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Sketch by Frank Tenney Johnson 

"/ guess we must a' bin three ject ahead, zvith a hundred yards to go. Split was 

a-cussin ' an' spurrin\ an ' zvhippin '. Ijes' whispered, 'Now, Stud! Now! Now! ' " 

(See Chapter XXI F— "Old Gran'pa") 



A RANCHMAN'S 
RECOLLECTIONS 

<^n Autobiography 

IN WHICH UNFAMILIAR FACTS BEARING UPON THE 
ORIGIN OF THE CATTLE INDUSTRY IN THE 
SOUTHWEST AND OF THE AMERICAN 
PACKING BUSINESS ARE STATED, 
and CHARACTERISTIC INCI- 
DENTS RECORDED 



BY 

FRANK S. HASTINGS 

Manager of the S. M. S. Ranch 
Stamford, Texas 



PUBLISHED BY 

THE BREEDER'S GAZETTE 

542 SOUTH DEARBORN STREET 

CHICAGO, ILLINOIS 

I92I 






Copyright, 1921, 
Sanders Publishing Co. 

All Rights Resened. 



g)C!.A630433 
m 23 1S2I 



?rf)f Hafttsfne ^rtB« 

R. R. DONNELLEY & SONS COMPANY 
CHICAGO 



TO THE OWNERS AND EMPLOYEES 

OF THE S. M. S. RANCH 

WHO THROUGH THEIR CO-OPERATION AND 

UNSWERVING CONFIDENCE 

HAVE GIVEN ME INSPIRATION IN MY 

INDUSTRIAL WORK 

THIS LITTLE VOLUME IS 

AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED. 

FRANK S. HASTINGS 



PUBLISHER'S PREFACE 

"And thou shall smite the rock, and there shall 
come ivater out of it, that the people may drink." 

IN the opening paragraph of the first chapter of 
this volume the author intimates that we "may" 
not have known that we were to unloose a flood when 
we asked him originally to write of his experiences 
in connection with the rise and progress of the west- 
ern cattle trade. In response I will simply say that 
we have known Frank Hastings for full thirty 
years. We thought we knew him well, but we now 
find that he has gifts not hitherto suspected. 

Originally brought out in the columns of The 
Breeder's Gazette, these sketches attracted at once 
and held the close attention of thousands of delighted 
readers in every part of the country. In soliciting 
their preparation we approached the subject with the 
same confidence that the Prophet of old smote with 
his rod the rock of Horeb ; but I must here and now 
confess that the stream of thought called forth sur- 
passed in purity and sweetness anything anticipated. 

Mr. Hastings has made a real contribution to 
the pastoral literature of the West; one vitalized 
throughout by an intensely human touch. We count 
ourselves fortunate in having the privilege of giving 
his work this permanent form. 

Alvin H. Sanders. 

[ vii 1 



AUTHOR'S PREFACE 

THE only excuse I can offer for the publication 
in book form of the series of sketches which 
under the title, "Recollections of a Ranchman," ap- 
peared in The Breeder's Gazette, Chicago, from July 
15, 1920, to and including the Holiday Number of 
that year, is found in letters from people whom I 
know and many whom I do not know, and from 
librarians and educational Institutions, suggesting 
that the matter should be republished in this form. 

I confess that while the opinions of my immediate 
friends are dear to me, yet they may be indulgent and 
that the kind words written from the forks of the 
creek by people whom I do not know have been a 
greater boon to me. This is particularly true of old- 
timers on the range who have commented on the 
cowboy dialect used in some of the sketches as being 
correct, or, as one or two have written, "You have 
got the cowboy down fine." 

It is solace to a writer to have his written word 
ring true to "men who know." Their expressions of 
appreciation have gone straight to my heart. 

It has been a source of pleasure to look backward 
over the cattle Industry as It has come into my life, 
and to recall some of the wonderful men whom It 
has been my privilege to know. This prelude would 

[ix] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

not be complete without an expression of my grati- 
tude to Alvin H. Sanders and DeWitt C. Wing of 
The Breeder's Gazette, for their patience, care and 
thoroughness in editing my manuscript, and their 
helpful suggestions as to topics. 

If by chance an indulgent reader shall find any- 
thing of historic value in these sketches, or if the 
book shall prove helpful to any of the young men 
who are coming along in the cattle industry, my cup 
will be full. 

Very truly, 

Frank S. Hastings, 
Manager of the S. M. S. Ranch, 
Stamford, Texas. 
June I, 1 92 1. 



[x] 



CONTENTS 

PAGES 

Publisher's Preface vii 

Author's Preface ix-x 

List of Illustrations xiii-xiv 

The Early Days 1-16 

Early Packing and Refrigeration .... 17-25 

"The Story of the Herefords" 26-35 

More About Herefords and Men 36-41 

"Billy" Cummings : An All-RoundCattleman 42-48 

The Late Marcus Daly 49*55 

"The Embalmed Beef Scandal" 56-69 

The "Baby" Beef Idea 70-76 

Some Journalists I Have Known 77-86 

Kirk B. Armour as I Knew Him 87-95 

Brahmin Cattle: Culling a Range Herd . 96-103 

Some Western Characteristics 104-115 

Some Cowboy Characteristics 116-125 

Cattle Weight Comparisons; Ticks. . . . 126-134 

Some Packers I Have Known 135-145 

[xi] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 



PAGES 



The Long Trail 146-158 

Texas Cow Ponies and Stud Horse Luck . . 159-167 

The Storm: A "Mage" Story 168-175 

Some Humble Western Characters .... 176-184 

Grubb, the Potato King 185-190 

Refrigeration and By-Products 191-196 

Advertising: Parting Remarks 197-203 

The Lost Child 204-213 

Old Gran'pa: A "Mage" Story 214-226 

The Speckled Yearlin' 227-235 



[xii] 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 



FACING PAGE 



Old Gran'pa Frontispiece 

S. M. S. Cows IN Spring Form 33 

Throwing a Round-Up on Water 65 

Separating Cows from Calves ....... 75 

Kirkland B. Armour 87 

Cutting Out Cattle by Classes loi 

Bringing Back a Truant 117 

G. F. Swift 135 

Philip D. Armour , 139 

Nelson Morris 143 

S. M. S. Boys Saddling in Corral 159 

"Ol' Cabby" 165 

CURLEY AND JaCK 205 

Mage Himself on "Old Gran'pa" 215 



[ xiil ] 



CHAPTER I 

THE EARLY DAYS 

IT IS a far cry from the S. M. S. Ranch in 1920 
to the five-board fence on my father's little farm, 
near Leavenworth, Kans., where I sat fifty years 
ago (in 1870) watching the first herd of Texas cattle 
that I had ever seen. They were driven into an 
adjoining pasture, and as I look back through the 
vista of men, methods and events that have filled that 
gap in the evolution of the cattle industry I am 
reminded that The Breeder's Gazette in asking me 
to review that period from a personal standpoint 
may not have realized how full of it I am, or how 
much space would be required to tell the story, which 
must necessarily be rambling. I shall not attempt 
to write history in chronological order. As Henry 
Watterson, in some wonderful stories of men and 
events, in his "Looking Backward" series, wrote of 
characters and events of interest rather than orderly 
history, so I wish I might use the general title of his 
recollections, because my own will be simply the 
memories of "looking backward," and yet I shall try 
to reach the time when the past steps upon the 
threshold of the present. 

Harking back to the boy of 10 years on the 
board fence, I recall that the cattle were from the 

[I] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

King Ranch, and had been shipped from Abilene, 
Kans., which was then the great objective of Texas 
trail herds, and the first great shipping point in the 
west. It was late in the fall of 1870. The herd was 
of mixed cows and steers. The steers in the main 
were disposed of by December and the cows win- 
tered. Their pasture had been my playground. 
The "Ole Swimming Hole" was there; it was also 
my wild duck preserve, in fall and spring, as well 
as my fish pond. Black walnuts lined the stream 
and hazelnuts abounded on the rolling ground; they, 
too, were my treasures. My winter rabbit trapping 
and quail shooting were there. I used the scrub oak 
thickets for a screen from which to shoot prairie 
chickens as they came over in the fall on their way 
southward. 

The longhorns seemed an intrusion. They had a 
wild-eyed way of keeping one covered. I was in- 
clined to resent their advent, but my mother said 
that they would not bother me if I attended to my 
own business and let them alone. Perhaps that was 
intended as much for a life admonition as to remove 
my misgivings. It worked out all right, and I was 
soon persona grata to go and come. I have often 
thought of her admonition, with Its practical demon- 
stration ; it has helped me over some hard spots since. 

In the following spring the Texas cows began to 
bring calves. The town butchers wanted them, and 
the cattle-owners wanted the cows dry and grass- 

[2] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

fat. The calves were sold at $2.50 per head, the 
butchers to come and get them, as wanted. Their 
first trip, made in an ordinary butcher's wagon, with 
no horse to rope from, encountered maternity from 
the jump. 

My father had a first-model Smith & Wesson blue- 
barreled six-shooter. He had furnished me with 
cartridges for unlimited practice. I have not car- 
ried or fired a revolver in forty years, but at that 
time I could pepper my shots pretty well about the 
ace at fifty feet. I hired out to the butchers, and 
had good success shooting the calves in the forehead 
from the wagon. I was allowed 10 cents per head, 
which was probably a better return, in proportion, 
than the cattle-owners, received from their invest- 
ments. 

In the summer tragedy came. The winter had 
been very mild; ticks carried over; a dairy herd 
which had been culled and selected for years was 
turned into the pasture with the Texas cows, and 
suffered a 90 per cent mortality. The whole coun- 
try became excited, thinking it an epidemic which 
would spread; stories of Texas fever were brought in 
vaguely from other states; a great many domestic 
cattle in Dickinson County, Kans., near Abilene, 
died; New York State issued a quarantine against 
Texas cattle; the Governor of Illinois called a con- 
vention at Springfield, 111., which was attended by 
delegates from most of the northern states and two 

[3] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

from Canada ; Texas fever and quarantines were dis- 
cussed. Only three theories, with any following, 
were presented. The first was a theory advanced by 
scientists which argued that Texas fever resulted 
from a small egg or sporule, deposited upon the 
blades of grass in Texas. The blades, being eaten by 
the cattle, enabled the sporule to find its way into 
the blood and grow to be well-defined, under the 
microscope, resulting in disorganization of the blood 
and a fever of deadly character. The second theory 
was that Spanish or Texas fever came from such 
causes as fever aboard emigrant ships, privation, 
hard usage, and insufficient feed, water and rest. 
The third theory was ticks, which, dropped from 
Texas animals, were eaten by domestic animals, with 
fatal results. 

Texas was without representation at the meeting, 
from which prejudice was spread with more or less 
justification over the whole United States against 
Texas cattle, setting the industry back many years. 
About this time the nucleus of the now great pack- 
ing Industry began to form, but for the moment I 
shall only write of it as It came into my own life. 

One Joseph Whittaker of Cincinnati gave a 99- 
year lease on some valuable vacant property for city 
park purposes. He received a yearly Income which 
looked big then, and, with cattle and hogs at low 
value, furnished a good working capital, protected 
by a handsome annual Income. He came to Leaven- 

[4] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

worth, Kans., formed a partnership with Matthew 
Ryan, and built a substantial small packinghouse 
for the slaughter of hogs and cattle on the bank of 
the Missouri River, which stream formed a cheap 
sewer as well as cheap ice supply. They specialized 
on hogs during the winter months, and cattle dur- 
ing the cattle season; that is, from mid-summer to 
December, doing a limited fresh meat business, and 
running largely to barreled beef and dried beef hams. 

A lot of negro women and children could always 
be seen coming from the packinghouse, carrying 
fresh livers, hearts and kidneys, which were given 
away. In modern technical parlance these organs 
were the "pluck," which is now a material item in 
modern packinghouse salvage. In looking back I 
do not understand why it was not thrown into tank- 
age, which they were then making, nor why they did 
not use in the main everything else in the offal. 

Whittaker bought a half-section of land near my 
father's place. It was a rather light-soiled tract. 
He began hauling tankage to scatter over it. That 
was my first sense of the packer drive to eliminate 
waste. It was literally a sense, because the first 
intimation came through the nostrils and the second 
through the ears from the expressions of outraged 
neighbors, who sought the courts and tried to have 
it declared a nuisance, but most of them lived to see 
an almost sterile farm develop into one of the best 
producers in the country, I do not know whether 

[5] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

they ran the blood into tankage then or not, but 
have a vague memory that it went into the sewer. 
What has followed in the wake of the primitive 
initial move In animal fertilizer production and use, 
in comparison with what is being accomplished now, 
and the greater saving from using what originally 
went Into tankage, will come In for later comment. 

Whittaker's boys were my playmates and chums. 
On Saturdays we often went to the packinghouse. 
On one of these visits an incident occurred which has 
been vital in relation to some of my subsequent 
studies in breeding. They were killing quite a string 
of aged Texas steers, using a sharp lance, and strik- 
ing behind the horns. We saw them lance a big 
fellow, with the usual result: a quick fall, the trap 
door opened, and he was dragged to the skinning 
beds. When the knife was at his throat he jumped, 
with one bound, to his feet, saw daylight through a 
door at the rear, jum.ped a story and a half to the 
ground, swam the Missouri River to a sandbar one- 
quarter of a mile distant, shook himself and turned 
his head to the shore, at bay. In later years Texas 
steers running amuck in the Kansas City bottoms 
charged cable cars, head on. 

I am sure that the wonderful vitality of the prim- 
itive Longhorn, backed by self-reliance and the 
hustling qualities of the Hereford, blended with the 
old Spanish blood, has served as a kind of iron basis 
for the well-bred bovine stocks In Texas today. This 

[6] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

vital seed, as represented by Its modern beef type, 
transplanted to the north, stands the rigors of winter 
better than native cattle. In my own work here in 
Texas I found that the S. M. S. herd had a won- 
derful basis. There were many weeds in it, however, 
and I cut for conformation, leaving lots of 1,000- 
pound cows, with some brindle or often straight duns, 
long after I had cut out a lot of cat-hammed, flat- 
ribbed animals with clean flesh marks and color. 

Cortez may have treated the Mexican race badly, 
but he gave to America or, more exactly speaking, to 
the Texas prairies, a heritage in vital cow brutes 
which has done almost as much as pure breeding for 
the American cattle Industry. That heritage fur- 
nished the vitality In which to fix the beef-making 
Instinct. I have never lost sight of It in the S. M. S. 
herd. While our fraction long ago was reduced to 
•999 pure, we have kept our eyes on the strong, 
"good-doers," and watched the winter feed grounds, 
like hawks watching chickens, for weak constitu- 
tions, and the spring pick-up for the laggards, and 
kissed them goodbye. 

We owe the primitive Texas cow a debt. She had 
much to do In making possible the record that well- 
bred Texas cattle are registering in the markets, as 
regards both prices and poundage. 

If the foregoing may take the caption "Fifty Years 
Ago," perhaps what follows could be headed "Light 
Begins to Dawn." 

[7] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

The early days of range cattle production may only 
be considered as a tragedy, in the light of what has 
followed — a thought which can probably be applied 
with truth to the frontier in making a path for 
civilization and progress — but the story, rich in ter- 
rors and privations, of the gold-seeker and the trail 
from the Missouri 'River to the Golden Gate, has a 
sequel in the story of the men who have made the 
Texas of today. 

From Charles Jones, an associate in my packing- 
house days, and now at the head of the Freeport, 
Tex., Sulphur Co., I have obtained a book which 
induced him to become a cowpuncher in 1877. It is 
out of print and priceless, and I go to the safe to 
see if it is still there, just as one puts one's hand on 
one's pocketbook in a crowd. It was written by 
"Joe" G. McCoy, and bears the title "Historic 
Sketches of the Cattle Trade of the West and South- 
west." It was published in 1874, just at a time 
when the dark hour was on the Texas industry. The 
state was under quarantine, and there was no known 
remedy or protection against Spanish or Texas fever. 
The book contains interesting data. Its most Inter- 
esting chapters deal with attempts to find an eastern 
market for cattle, first by trail, even into Illinois, and 
in 1868 to Abilene, Kans., when shipping pens had 
been established on the Union Pacific Railroad and 
buyers assembled during the season for purchases 
distributed by rail everywhere east. 

[8] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

Conditions were at their worst in 1873, when Mr. 
McCoy evidently turned in his copy. The wail of 
despair in his concluding thought sums up the his- 
tory of those awful preceding ten years. I quote him, 
not only because of what has followed, but because 
the evolution of Texas into a nursery for well-bred 
beef cattle in the national supply offers a striking 
illustration of the courage and never-know-when- 
you-are-licked-persistence of the Texan, in the cattle 
industry or any other industry. Texas is the first 
state in cotton and cattle; the third in oil, with the 
prospect of becoming first; the first in sulphur, and 
wheat is coming fast, to say nothing of truck gar- 
dening, poultry and butter — all distinct national 
factors — and there are still millions of fertile acres 
of virgin soil begging for the plow; but I am getting 
away from my story. Mr. McCoy, himself a pioneer 
frontier trailer and cattle trader, says, in 1874: 

"Of the cattle coming from Texas two-thirds are 
marketed when almost totally unfit for consumption, 
thus entailing comparatively immense losses upon 
the parties selling them. Rather than continue this 
foolish, wasteful and ruinous practice, drovers had 
infinitely better buy stock ranches in western Kansas 
and Colorado and there keep them until their stock 
is fat." 

It is not my thought to ridicule McCoy's conclu- 
sion. He was logical and could not look forward 
to the Texas of today, any more than the cattlemen 

[9] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

of those times could look forward to agricultural 
development and solidify their land holdings when 
the alternate section was school land under lease 
and it seemed cheaper to lease than to buy. 

The nester was not dreamed of then. The range 
was open, and the wire fence was still in the back 
of John Gates' head. There were a few notable 
exceptions. S. M. Swenson was one of them, and 
we find on his maps this notation, made before the 
Civil War: "Do not sell this tract; it has water on 
it, and is good agricultural land." Men who had 
that foresight have reaped deserved rewards. 

The northwestern movements had not begun to 
any appreciable extent, but except in so far as the 
Spanish fever scare limited trails to Kansas rail- 
road connections, a ray of light had appeared at 
Kansas City, and there was another day dawning for 
the beef Industry, That light was the packinghouse 
plus refrigeration. First came the packinghouse, 
with its immense capacity for barreled beef and 
pickled dried beef hams, with a limited natural ice 
refrigeration. Barreled beef was almost as great a 
staple as barreled pork, and it had an immense con- 
sumption in lumber camps and sailing vessels, besides 
a large aggregate domestic consumption. 

Plankington and Armour owned packinghouses in 
Milwaukee and Chicago, but with that great fore- 
sight which seemed to make the future an open 
book, and made a fortune for him in pork after the 

[10] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

Civil War, Philip D. Armour became convinced that 
he needed a location nearer the source of beef pro- 
duction. Accordingly in 1870 he located a packing- 
house in Kansas City, devoted largely to the slaugh- 
ter of beef, although the hog was an important 
factor in the business. The Kansas City stockyards 
were simply a holding-place. Crude cuts of the yards 
in the McCoy book show them to be made like good- 
sized railroad feed and rest pens of the present day, 
probably about twice the size of those at Parsons, 
Kans. 

Some trading was done in the yards, but in the 
main packinghouse buyers went out to Abilene, 
taking real money with them, and making their 
purchases as trail herds came in. G. W. Tourtelotte, 
familiarly known as "Charlie" Tourtelotte, later 
superintendent of the Kansas City plant for twenty 
years, was Armour's pioneer buyer. I wish that 
space permitted my going into details concerning the 
reminiscences that I have heard him relate. He was 
a man of unusual balance, likable, competent and 
dependable. He did not believe, even in those early 
days, when it was so much in vogue, in mixing 
"booze" and business. From others I have learned 
that his great asset with the men whom he came in 
contact with in those early days was his absolute fair- 
ness. He established for his company that most 
valuable of all business assets: "A good concern to 
do business with." 

[II] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

"Charlie" was a born handler of men, always 
taking the human equation into consideration, and, 
during his superintendency, probably had as few 
labor complications as any superintendent in any 
industry in America. His men idolized him. Dur- 
ing a strike, which came very quickly after the plant 
was visited by labor organizers, I recall that men 
were hard to hold in line, and persisted in telling the 
agitators that they would do anything "Charlie" 
Tourtelotte said was right. I recall that Samuel 
Gompers came promptly and effected a settlement. 
The strike was with the firemen, and lasted only a 
short time ; but with its inception notices were sent out 
all over the country urging a boycott of the products 
of the Armour Packing Co., which had not then con- 
solidated with Armour & Co. of Chicago, with Philip 
D. Armour as a large stockholder. 

Corrective notices were of course sent. At that 
time the western mining districts were strongly or- 
ganized. Butte, Mont., the most notable, was the 
leading district, and at that place there were 52 
organizations, operating through a central council, 
and a notice of the lifting of the boycott had not 
reached that body. Everything was peaceful at 
Butte. In the Coeur d'Alene country, with head- 
quarters at Wallace, Idaho, practically the same 
condition as to organization existed; but in that 
country things were very bad. Mine-owners were 
being killed, and troops were sent there. 

[12] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

At this point I shall digress for a moment to illus- 
trate the workings of the boycott system in restraint 
of trade, and how far-reaching, after local troubles 
had been adjusted, the system sometimes unintention- 
ally carried serious injury, and relate some personal 
reminiscences which are amusing in the telling, but 
were very real then. 

I had charge of the western brokers, and usually 
spent two months every spring in the west. Our 
immense trade there was blocked by the failure to 
have the boycott raised. Our brokers were wiring 
us about it. I was sent out to investigate. I found 
that the boycott had not been raised because the 
notice of Its having been lifted had not been placed 
before the central body, the secretary of which told 
me that it would be necessary to locate the particular 
union which presented it. His record did not show 
that union, so I had to make the rounds, of the 52 
secretaries until I located my man. I ferreted out 
two or three of the leaders. They treated me very 
courteously, and helped me locate the various sec- 
retaries. Butte was a three-shift town, most of 
whose population consisted of miners; it was prob- 
ably the liveliest town in America at that time. It 
had no day or night. Members of one shift or 
another were always more or less on the streets. It 
was said that "It is day all day in the daytime, and 
there is no night at Butte." 

I began selling meats, subject to lifting the boy- 

[13] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

cott, and spent a week, most of the 24 hours each 
day, as the shifts were out, trying to locate my man. 
Most of them dropped into Demer & Hicky's sa- 
loon, and I spent most of my time there playing 
whist with some of the good fellows who would point 
out some of my 52 varieties as they came in, but 
always the wrong man. Finally I got down to five, 
and located them in certain mines. I was doing a 
land office business selling carloads, but they were 
needing the goods and punching me up for shipment, 
which we did not dare make until my man was found. 
The central body had its monthly meeting the 
next night. I went out to one of the mines where 
one of my five men worked. It really was not a mine 
but a hole in the ground about 500 feet deep, with 
a bucket instead of a cage in which to bring the ore 
up, and the bucket, by the way, was a whisky barrel, 
with a steel-pointed bottom. My man was there, 
but down below. The engineer was a fine fellow, but 
he evidently wanted to have some fun, so he said, 
"You can go down and see him." I asked if the 
man could not come up for a few minutes, and said 
that I would pay his wages for the day. The 
engineer said, "You are not afraid to go down, are 
you?" I replied, "No," but I lied, and could feel 
myself slipping off the barrel, yet I knew that I 
must have the miner's respect. He gave me some 
slicker clothes and delegated one of his helpers to 
accompany me. 

[14] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

We stood with our feet on the rim of the barrel, 
our hands on the cable, and as the drop began I 
looked up at the daylight above, and said, "Goodbye, 
old girl. If I never see you again." 

Below the level of the mine there was a sump, 
and the engineer, not through with his fun, dropped 
us to the water line before my guide could signal 
him to stop. I found my man, got my release, and 
when I reached the top was so glad to see any one 
but the engineer that I rushed over and kissed a 
handsome setter dog. That night the central body 
met and released us, but the miners told the story, 
and had about as much fun over It as boys on a 
ranch have when some one Is thrown but not hurt. 

I shall not here enter Into a description of very 
much the same procedure in the Coeur d'Alene 
country, except to say that I was accompanied by 
a merchant from Missoula, Mont., who had a branch 
at Wallace, Idaho. We went Into a little restaurant 
In the mining district for lunch. There was a local 
strike on, and almost everyone had "tanked up." 
Our waiter had achieved a particularly compre- 
hensive "jag." Some one pointed me out as the man 
who was trying to lift the Armour boycott. We 
ordered boiled eggs. The waiter called back, "Boll 
two dozen," and then addressing us directly, said, 
"When any of ye damned capitalists come out here 
to run this country we'll feed ye well, but, by God, 
ye'll eat what's set before ye." 

[15] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

My friend turned to me and said, "What are you 
going to do?" 

"I am going to eat mine," I answered. 

In the meantime I suggested to the waiter that 
we all go in at the next door and have a drink with 
the "capitalists." In the end the waiter found my 
man for me. 

There is hardly a day in my life when something 
in connection with my old packinghouse training does 
not help me over a difficulty. A duty to perform 
meant in those days "sticktoitiveness," quick wits, 
keeping one's temper, attending to one's own busi- 
ness, and work. That is how men have been trained 
to encircle the globe with American live stock 
products. 



[i6] 



CHAPTER II 

EARLY PACKING AND REFRIGERATION 

LJ. CALLAHAN in his reminiscences shows 
, that Armour slaughtered the first beef, from 
a packing standpoint, in Kansas City in 1869, using 
the Nofsinger House, but in 1870 the company killed 
in its own plant, and by the fall of 1871 thought it 
remarkable to be killing 100 cattle in a ten-hour day. 
McCoy records 68,000 cattle killed in 1871 and 
1872 in Kansas City, Armour killing one-half, the 
other one-half by others whom he does not mention; 
also that in 1873 26,800 were killed, the volume 
being reduced by the panic of that year. Callahan 
says that in 1869 some cattle were slaughtered in 
Houston, Tex., by Hancock & Cragin and some at 
Junction City, Kans., by Patterson & Co. 

In 1869 Philip D. Armour sent P. C. Cole to 
Texas with a view to selecting a killing point, but 
after careful investigation Mr. Cole reported that 
it was too early to go to Texas, and, placing his 
finger on the map at Kansas City, said, "This is the 
logical point." Mr. Cole was more or less "with the 
Armour Kansas City plant and was associated with 
Geo. W. Tourtelotte in the early range buying. 

McCoy records that in 1873 the Missouri, Kansas 

[17] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

& Texas Railroad was completed to Denison, Tex., 
where pens for 2,000 cattle were built; also that the 
Atlantic and Texas Refrigerator Car Co. had con- 
structed 100 new cars, adapted to shipping fresh 
beef and local capacity for killing 500 cattle per day. 
I have been unable to ascertain the fate of the Deni- 
son enterprise, but hope to before my story is 
finished. The reference to cars can hardly mean 
refrigerators, since all records seem to point to 1875 
and 1876, with Chicago taking the initiative. 

Callahan records 1876 as the year in which the 
first killing was done in Kansas City for local butcher 
trade. He also comments on beef hams as going In 
large quantity in tierces to William Windsor, Liver- 
pool, England, contracted for in advance, and to 
Jacob Dold, Buffalo, N. Y., who later established 
a large plant In Kansas City. Procter & Gamble of 
Cincinnati bought the tallow, Buffalo, N. Y., took 
the hides, and a Massachusetts concern the horns. 
Callahan makes another comment which explains In 
a way why the packing business moved rapidly be- 
tween 1870 and 1880. He says: "It was usually 
considered that if a packer either owned or could 
rent a packinghouse, and had money enough to 
accumulate a suitable stock of cooperage, salt and 
saltpeter, and had a fair line with a good bank, he 
was ready to run the business." 

The first record of refrigeration, still using natural 
Ice, Is given by Joseph Nicholson of Chicago as 

[18] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

having been built in 1875 by him, the idea being 
taken from a small domestic icebox, known as the 
Fischer box. A royalty of 6 cents per square foot 
was paid for the use of the idea. A year later Mr. 
Nicholson felt that he could improve the Fischer 
box, and built an entirely different one, using his 
own ideas with success. Another interesting fact 
recalled by Mr. Nicholson is that prior to the re- 
frigerator car, fresh meat, mainly pork, was shipped 
in barrels, with a link of stovepipe filled with packed 
ice in the center and meat packed about it, but it 
was never sent further than Aurora or Galesburg 
in Illinois. Pork tenderloins were then considered a 
by-product, and sold for 6 cents a pound. The lowest 
temperature obtained from this class of refrigeration 
was 34°. 

The Bankers' Magazine for January, 19 19, 
carries a story of the house of Swift & Co., which 
says: "Mr. Swift in 1876 perfected a refrigerator 
car that would carry dressed beef to eastern markets 
in prime condition. He built his own refrigerator 
cars because the railroads refused to build them. 
The same is true of Armour & Co., and others with 
well-defined refrigerator car service in 1878, by 
which time the prejudice against refrigerated meats 
had been overcome by the splendid quality of prime 
beef in prime condition available for every table in 
cities." 

The history of refrigerator cars is especially inter- 

[19] 



A RANCHMAN^S RECOLLECTIONS 

esting at this time, when bills in Congress are seek- 
ing to take them away from the packers, and yet it 
is a fair deduction that without private initiative 
the beef industry must have dragged on for years 
without markets. In 1881 I was with a produce 
house in Denver. Hundreds of cars of apples and 
potatoes were shipped in the winter from the Mis- 
souri River, there being stoves in the cars. It is a 
fair deduction, too, that the development of meat 
refrigerator cars brought the same service for prod- 
uce, fish and fruit, most of it under private Initiative, 
years before it would have come from the slow 
process of railroad development. 

It is not my thought to follow the development 
of the Kansas City market for cattle through any 
tedious process of dates and figures, but rather to 
sketch epochs of vital bearing. 

The hog Industry does not call for any special 
mention of its advent, except that refrigerator cars 
began the movement for the sale of fresh pork cuts, 
with limited natural ice refrigeration for curing, a 
gradual increase in summer killing, the time-honored 
term "winter-cured," as applied to hams and bacon, 
becoming obsolete as mechanical refrigeration be- 
came definite. 

Artificial, or, more properly speaking, mechanical 
refrigeration, meaning the use of the ammonia 
process, was first used by Kingan & Co., Indianapolis, 
In 1885. Its use In Chicago and Kansas City oc- 

[20] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

curred in 1886 or 1887, but it did not come into 
widespread use as to butter, eggs, cheese, poultry and 
fruit until after 1890. It will be seen how far-reach- 
ing the refrigerator car was in advance of mechanical 
refrigeration in establishing a market for both fresh 
beef and pork in at least all the medium-sized and 
large cities. 

The years 1870 to 1880 marked the period of 
great change from the uncertain to the certain, from 
"salt junk" to fresh meat distribution, and gave the 
real swing not only to the western packing industry 
but to a conception of better cattle on the ranges. 

The Armour family were farmers. The old fam- 
ily plow, dating back to pre-revolutionary times, is 
still to be seen at the Chicago stockyards. The gen- 
eration of packers, consisting of five brothers, be- 
came great captains of industry. Philip D. Armour 
founded Armour & Co., and brought all of his broth- 
ers directly or indirectly into the business. In 1869 
he sent the oldest brother, Simeon B. Armour, to 
take charge of the Kansas City packing venture, and 
later another brother, A. W. Armour, to head the 
banking firm of Armour Bros, in Kansas City, after- 
wards merged into the Midland National Bank. A. 
W. Armour never became a packer, but his sons 
Kirkland B. Armour and Chas. W. Armour went 
into the business as boys. A. W. Armour brought to 
the great Kansas City banking house the instincts of 
the trained country banker, with its cordial intima- 

[21] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

cies, human interests and intuitive estimate of men. 
He was in every way a lovable character, with the 
faculty of attracting young men and helping them in 
their business problems. Many of the stalwarts in 
today's Kansas City activities grow fondly reminis- 
cent of him and his influence on their lives. 

When I went with the Kansas City Armours in 
1889 Simeon B. Armour was still the active head, 
with John Mansur as confidential adviser. Mr. Man- 
sur had in the '70's been of the firm of Slavens & 
Mansur in Kansas City packing, but withdrew to 
go with the Armours. He remained with them until 
his death. Hides and fertilizer were his immediate 
specialties; he also directed the hog buying. He was 
known throughout the industry as one of the ablest 
men of his time. 

Among the traditions of the Kansas City plant is 
that of Simeon B. Armour's methods. He sat at the 
receiving scales in the early days, weighing in the 
hogs. He kept in close touch with the class of cattle 
and every day saw every nook and corner of the 
plant, keeping in the closest touch with his men and 
calling most of them by name, all distinct Armour 
traits. He was reserved, conservative and eminently 
just; his charities were extensive but never ostenta- 
tious. Himself a man of exemplary habits, he had 
the deepest sympathy for human weaknesses, and the 
cry of a soul in distress always found his hand reach- 
ing down to grasp one struggling in despair. He did 

[22] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

not have the magnetic force of his brother Philip or 
of his nephew Kirkland, but by a quiet force, pecu- 
liarly his own, drew men to him with bonds equally 
strong. 

When Kansas City, the unsightly town of hills and 
hollows, began to develop its parks and boulevards, 
he was on the first board, remaining until his death, 
and was the great Inspiration for the now beautiful 
Kansas City. Mr. Armour attended church regu- 
larly, and had a quiet but effective method of passing 
on the sermon. If it appealed to him he remained 
and gave the minister a cigar, but otherwise filed out 
with the congregation. An instance of his innate 
honesty occurred when the celebrated heifer Armour 
Rose was being raffled off to build Convention Hall. 
Kirk B. Armour was making a public sale of reg- 
istered Herefords, and several heifers sold at $i,ooo. 
Members of the Commercial Club asked him to do- 
nate a heifer to be sold for the Convention Hall 
fund, which he did, saying that she was as good as 
he had. The public knew the sale price, and figured 
that Armour Rose should be worth as much as the 
best, but very few wanted a heifer. 

S. B. Armour called me to his desk and asked, 
"What is this that I see in the papers about Kirk 
and you calling this heifer worth $i,ooo? Did you 
say that she is worth that?" I said that she had 
been given without valuation, but the public had 
jumped at the conclusion that it could have the heifer 

[23] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

or $i,ooo. He replied, "We'll make her worth a 
thousand dollars." 

He had a weakness for hickory wood from the 
earliest days until he died; he just could not see an 
outstanding load of straight hickory wood come into 
the smokehouses without saying, "Send that up to my 
house." He always had a four or five years' supply 
ahead, and, so far as possible, heated his house 
with it. 

Another Incident illustrated his penchant for the 
quick liquidation of obligations. While at Hot 
Springs with his family Mr. Armour met Fliram 
Berry, the manufacturer of "Old Crow" whiskey. 
Shortly after Mr. Armour's return Mr. Berry sent 
him a case of "Old Crow," with the following dog- 
gerel, signed by Mr. Berry: "To Mr. S. B. Armour: 

"Herein, Mr. Armour, 
I send you a 'Charmer' ; 

A real assuager of grief; 
It is good for the 'inner,' 
And when taken at dinner 

Will go mighty well with your beef. 

"Perhaps you don't know 
That our real 'Old Crow,' 

Is made on the perfectest plan; 
It will cheer, it will cure, 
And we warrant it pure, ' 

As the meat you put up in a can." 

I had introduced verse Into our advertising, with 
rather good results, and was known as "The Rhyme- 

[24] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

ster." Mr. Armour brought the Berry effusion over 
to my desk and said, "I want you to send Mr. Berry 
a case of the best things we prepare. I want it to 
be the best case that ever went out of this shop. 
When a man thinks enough of me to fix me up Hke 
this I want to do something for him; then see what 
you can do about some poetry." 

I manufactured the following, and between the 
two doses of rhyme they had good times showing it 
to their friends who were sharing the bounty. (I 
wonder if even millionaires would not be appalled 
at giving or receiving a case of "Old Crow" now!) 
"To Mr. Hiram Berry: 

"All Hail! Mr. Berry, 
I am feeling quite cheery; 

Have just swallowed a drop of 'Old Crow.' 
H I'd a shadow of grief 
'Tis my earnest belief 

You would banish the presence of woe. 

"This parcel of stuff 
I trust is enough 

To keep the gray wolf from your door. 
If it isn't, please know 
That one croak from 'Old Crow' 

Will bring you a hundred-fold more." 

This was signed "S. B. Armour." Perhaps it may 
seem trivial to introduce these little incidents in the 
lives of the great captains of industry, but in my 
study of men give me those who are intensely human, 
and try to get a laugh every day. 

[25] 



CHAPTER III 

"the story of the herefords" 

BEGAN with the Kansas City Armours in 1889, 
and remained with them until 1902. My advent 
in the cattle industry proper came about In an acci- 
dental way. I was on the provisions side of the 
packing business, holding down a desk of specialties, 
"mild-cured, selected hams and bacon," for our 
whole territory, and also in charge of western 
brokers, which latter work brought me In contact, 
largely by observation, with the northwestern ranges, 
although I met many of the owners. In 1892 reg- 
istered Herefords were "In the dumps." There 
was no movement; breeders were in despair. The 
range was taking some bulls but at values below the 
cost of production. 

Chas. M. Culbertson, Newman, 111., a retired Chi- 
cago packer, had become Interested In Herefords in 
1877, accumulating, through Importations and top- 
ping American sources, one of the greatest herds In 
history. Having decided to clean up, he visited his 
old friend Philip D. Armour, explained his plans, 
and asked Mr. Armour to Instruct his cattle buyers 
to mark the registered cattle up for all they would 
stand for slaughter. Mr. Armour told him that 

[26] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

it was a shame to kill that class of stock, but that he 
would weigh it up for all it was worth on the market, 
and Mr. Culbertson could add whatever per head 
price he thought fair, and transfer the pedigrees to 
Kirkland B. Armour, who owned a beautiful sec- 
tion-farm at Excelsior Springs, Mo. This was done, 
and Mr. Armour wired his nephew that the cattle 
were being shipped to him. Here I must pause to 
speak of that remarkable breeding basis. 

In Alvin H. Sanders' book. The Story of the 
Herefords, on page 424, the imported cow Pretty- 
face 5735 is described. By original Anxiety and 
out of a Longhorn cow, she was the wonder of Eng- 
land as a two-year-old in 188 1, repeating her vic- 
tories in 1882 over the American circuit. This cow 
came with the Culbertson purchase. Mr. Sanders 
comments: "Unlike many cows with distinguished 
show records, she made a wonderful record as a 
breeder, giving birth to eleven calves in ten years, 
none of them twins." Mr. Sanders may have in- 
cluded her calves after the time she came to Kirk 
Armour, but I do not think so. She gave birth to 
five or six calves after reaching Mr. Armour, among 
them Lady Prettyface and Lord Prettyface. The 
cow Prettyface offers a striking comparison between 
the show winners of 1882 and those of the past 
twenty years. She was 13 years old when she came 
to Mr. Armour, but lived, as I recall it, until 1900, 
prolific to the last. She was distinctly long-horned, 

[27] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

very short-coupled and low-down; not a very large 
cow. Her horns today would probably decide a 
breeder not to show her, and that takes me to some 
range observations, leading up, among- other things, 
to our decision to dehorn the S. M. S. herd In the 
face of all sorts of range traditions against it. 

I found that cornbelt buyers, as they looked over 
the breeding herd, inclined to think that any animal 
carrying much horn development got it from primi- 
tive Texas longhorn, and when I argued that the 
Hereford was basically a breed with much horn de- 
velopment, as evidenced by the Armour Importations, 
and that English breeders had been slow to follow 
the American plan of breeding to the modern droop 
horn, they looked askance. I have been a Hereford 
m^an always, but while I do not think Hereford horn 
development In any way a detriment. It has given 
the range producer of well-bred whitefaces lots of 
headache to hear or read the oft-repeated theory 
that the animal still carries too much primitive blood. 

The Culbertson herd Included many daughters of 
The Grove 3d; also the cow Marcle (by Waxwork) 
which produced 17 calves, including several sets of 
twins; Wiltona Grove by Lord Wilton — but I will 
not burden this story with references to all the 
famous bloodlines in that wonderful basis of the 
original Armour herd. The herd bull was Kansas 
Lad 36832 by Beau Real by Anxiety 4th and out of 
Bertha by Torro. Then, as now, the blood of 

[28] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

Anxiety 4th was eagerly sought. I recall that once, 
in talking with John Steward, I said: "John, what is 
the best line of blood to breed Anxiety on?" He 
replied, "Anything." He was right. I recall that 
in the first Armour sale he bought the bull Tempter 
with two sires and one dam strong in Anxiety and 
a The Grove 3d outcross. He used this bull for one 
season, and sold him at a then big price, but when 
the calves began to come he went back and rebought 
him. Steward was to my notion the best breeder of 
his time, and a wizard at "nicking." I am sure that 
his early death only prevented him from becoming 
America's greatest breeder. 

I began to tell of the accident which drifted me 
into the cattle industry, but it is hazardous to drift 
a little without drifting a lot. The ten years of my 
association with registered Herefords are so full of 
reminiscences of men and cattle that I cannot hope 
to hold the patience of my readers longer than it 
takes to do some skimming. 

Mr. Sanders' Hereford history is an orderly chron- 
icle, and those who do not have it in their library 
should waste no time getting copies. I shall offer 
a few sidelights in which I had the personal touch, 
and for that reason shall not refer to many of the 
most noted factors in the evolution of the American 
cattle industry. 

When Kirk Armour took on Herefords they were 
sent to the Excelsior Springs, Mo., farm, now owned 

[29] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

by E. F. Swinney of the First National Bank of 
Kansas City. The farm was managed by Charles 
Wirt, one of the best all-around farmers and stock- 
men whom I have known. He was an unusually 
good feeder. Aged steers from the stockyards were 
sent over every year, and mares from the packing- 
house stables were sent over, bred, and returned for 
work until within safe foaling time. Wirt was not 
a pedigree man, except that his breeding records 
were infallible, but he was backward in his book- 
keeping. Mr. Armour went to the farm frequently, 
taking his two boys Watson and Lawrence, now vital 
factors in the Chicago plant. He knew that I loved 
the outdoors, and one day asked me to go along. 
While there Wirt asked me to help him with his 
herdbook. It wound up with my taking charge of 
that end, and, later, the breeding and public sale end. 

Herefords were beginning to swing back. The 
range was getting much interested, and I began to 
see, under Mr. Armour's progressive methods in 
everything, that the herd had a future. So, with a 
penchant for publicity, I began naming the heifers 
with an Armour prefix, after the first year. The 
celebrated Armour Maids were all born in 1894, the 
Armour Naiads in 1895, and later came the long 
list of "flowers" and other feminine names, with the 
Armour prefix. 

"Billy" Cummings, Armour's cow buyer, probably 
one of the best buyers in history, was in close touch 

[30] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

with rangemen as they came to the yards, and took 
on the private selling end, while in heifer and cow 
sales I was taken along as a "pedigree-shark." Our 
first crop of bull calves sold at the age of about nine 
months, going to New Mexico at $45 per head. The 
second year they sold for $65 to the Prairie Cattle 
Co. of Colorado, but after that they began to go in 
small lots to various rangemen, the price jumping 
up along the line. But few heifers or cows were sold 
except from a cull standpoint; in fact, Mr. Armour 
began to buy, and, as I recall it, bought 25 cows 
with calves at foot from Gudgell & Simpson at $100 
each, calves not counted, and quality the regular 
rotation of drop. From Jas. A. Funkhouser he 
bought the wonderful cow Queen Mab, bred to 
Hesiod 2d, at $300, and turned down May Day, then 
carrying Hesiod 29th, at $500. Mr. Armour never 
quite forgave me for deciding that she was too high 
in price when her calf, a year later, sold for $500. 
I have always felt that we made two mistakes : first, 
in not buying May Day, and, second, in not buying 
an outstanding Hesiod 2d sire, and bringing back 
into the herd the line of blood of The Grove 3d to 
combine with our Anxiety 4th strains, and The 
Grove 3d cows. 

The days when we visited the Funkhousers are 
fragrant memories of wonderful drives, of an ideal 
host and hostess, of dinners better than kings have, 
and of chats with Mr. Armour, whom, next to my 

[31] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

father, I loved better than any man. Loved? Yes, 
idolized, with all the strongest outpourings of the 
human heart where man loves man. I shall often 
refer to him ; somewhere in this series I shall devote 
a chapter to him, but I must get off by myself. (My 
manuscript may bear the tear stains which a man 
wishes to hide from his fellows.) 

"When the frost is on the punkin and the fod- 
der's In the shock," when the day dawned sweet and 
clear, with the delicious thrift of October air, Mr. 
Armour would say, "Never mind what you have on 
hand; let's go over and see Brother Jim." We took 
the train to Lathrop, Mo., and usually, while I was 
hiring a team, Mr. Armour, a persistent trader, 
would buy a team of horses or a few mules. Our 
drive to Plattsburg, Mo., and to the Funkhouser 
farm, took us through a rolling, wooded country, 
with little streams here and there, bridged with the 
picturesque structures of before the war, often with 
the elms meeting over them. In October Nature's 
most wondrous brush had painted a landscape no 
artist could reproduce. There were hard maple 
reds, Cottonwood and hickory yellows, poplar silvers, 
multi-colored pawpaws, and the deep ermine of 
vines clinging with suffocating ardor to giant oaks; 
redblrds whistling goodbyes to djnng summer, and, 
as If In conclave for the flight to winter quarters, the 
little bird folk of the woods kept the music of God's 
great outdoors echoing the exultation of our souls. 

[32] 




cS 

CO 

-^ 

Co 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

How we loved It all! The smell of the woods we 
knew would slowly give way to the odor of chicken 
frying and the rest of the wondrous aromas that 
drift in from the kitchen of country homes. Pound 
cake is my weakness, served warm and buttered as 
eaten. We knew that it would be a part of the meal. 
We always asked to go out and see it brown and cool- 
ing, and get a "whiff." Angel's food is all right for 
angels, but I am in the other class, and pound cake 
is good enough for me. 

The Funkhouser home, a one-story brick, vine- 
clad and picturesque, nestled in a glorious maple 
grove. A distinguished trio met us, "Brother Jim," 
his wonderful wife and Will Willis, her brother, the 
well-known herdsman. "Brother Jim" had the right 
system : he never asked you to look at his cattle 
until some one had helped you up from the table. 
There may have been some one strong enough to 
turn his back on a trade after eating one of Mrs. 
Funkhouser's dinners, but he is not of record. She 
was an ideal hostess, a woman of unusual attain- 
ments, comely and entertaining, her soft Missouri 
southern accents suggesting ante-bellum days, with 
their graces and courtesy. Mr. Armour said to me, 
on our way home, "I believe that 'Mrs. Jim' is a 
better salesman that 'Brother Jim' ; she gets you in 
the humor to pay any price he asks." He then added : 
"I am willing to buy a cow or a bull any time to sit 
down to one of her dinners." Its results may have 

[33] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

been commercial, but I am sure that Mrs. Funk- 
houser's part of the work was deep-seated in the 
joy of hospitality. 

Mr. Funkhouser had the rare gift of being able 
to pick a great sire as a calf. Hesiod 2d made him 
famous. I have heard it called luck, but I believe 
that most men who have developed great sires have 
had the "picking gift." 

As the result of their initial intimacy, Mr. Armour 
and Mr. Funkhouser made their first joint sale in 
Kansas City in 1898, using the old stockyards horse 
auction ring. At that time Truelass from the herd 
of Queen Victoria topped the sale at $1,025. Lady 
Laurel brought $1,000. The imported heifer Lalla 
Rookh, a two-year-old, brought $1,000, and the bull 
Kansas Lad Jr. $1,000 — new records after the slump 
of years. The 113 head averaged $385. 

It was at this sale that Geo. W. Henry fell ill 
of pneumonia, and died at the Midland Hotel. He 
had been a liberal buyer at the sale, taking among 
others the young bull Kansas Lad Jr., a bull that we 
made a mistake in selling, as his after-history affirms. 
Our decision was made because he had practically no 
white on his crest, and Mr. Armour loved ideal 
markings. We all regarded him as otherwise the 
most beautiful calf dropped up to that time. 

Kansas Lad Jr. was the sire of Prime Lad 
108911, whose dam was Primrose 80150, brought 
over by Kirk B. Armour in his third importation, 

[34] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

and sold In the same sale as Kansas Lad Jr. It will 
be recalled that Prime Lad, In the hands of the late 
Wm. S. VanNatta, became one of the greatest sires 
of his time. I undoubtedly made the greatest mis- 
take of my service with Mr. Armour's breeding 
problem by not fighting to a finish to retain Kansas 
Lad Jr., but, as I have said, or will say somewhere 
In this series, Mr. Armour was a trader. He loved 
to buy as well as to sell, and never turned us down 
on anything we wanted In connection with our 
breeding problem. But when It came to a choice 
between a trade or breeding theory. It was apt to 
be a trade, and he did love to sell a good one; In 
fact, "Brother Jim" was to some extent tarred with 
the same stick. They were both dead-game sports, 
and took their medicine gracefully when things 
didn't come their way. 

Mr. Funkhouser left an Impress on the registered 
Hereford Industry which was more far-reaching than 
that of men who have since come Into prominence. 
I make this comment without a thought of dis- 
paraging them, but rather to emphasize the faith and 
persistence of men like Funkhouser, "Tom" Clark, 
Wm. S. VanNatta, Gudgell & Simpson and others 
of their class who stayed with the trade during 
its dark days. They remind me of the trait which 
always produces the great men of any Industry: 
"The man worth while is the one who can smile 
when everything goes dead wrong." 

[35] 



CHAPTER IV 

MORE ABOUT HEREFORDS AND MEN 

WE HAD two permanent engagements: one 
for a day with the Funkhousers in October, 
and one with Gudgell & Simpson in May. Both 
were gala days, and looked forward to as bright 
spots. Gudgell & Simpson's homes were in the 
historic old town of Independence, Mo. The old 
courthouse still exhibited evidences of the Civil War, 
and the story of Joseph Smith's discovery of the 
tablets which formed the Mormon faith was the 
privilege of the oldest-timers to recall. May in 
Missouri means strawberries, and the varieties 
grown near Independence outdid the catalog illus- 
trations. We always finished our pasture visit in 
time to have supper at a combination saloon and 
restaurant, kept by a Teuton family, which was large 
enough to retain all the help-wages in the family. 
They still pounded the steak, and it was Kirk Ar- 
mour's delight to get a table near the kitchen door, 
which he asked them to leave open, in order to hear 
the old-fashioned thud of the spiked mallet. May 
in Missouri is also housefly time. The low-ceiled 
dining-room was fitted with swinging fans, decorated 
with tissue paper streamers, run by hand-power. 

[36] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

They did good work; that is, they kept the flies 
moving but persistent. 

Mr. Armour had an intimate friend who was the 
glass of fashion, a fine fellow, but fastidious in every 
way — a man who called the head waiter to com- 
plain of the temperature of the wine served. He 
would never go anywhere with us because he did 
not like the country, and was always suspicious that 
we would steer him up against something queer. 
When we went to the German restaurant Mr. Ar- 
mour would always say, "If you can get Bob to 
come down here and eat pounded steak, and fight 
flies with us, I will buy you a whole winter outfit." 
I never landed the outfit. 

I can close my eyes and still see Mr. Armour and 
"Billy" Cummings sitting across the table, burdened 
with a mammoth pounded steak, fried potatoes, cot- 
tage cheese with chives, potato salad, wilted lettuce, 
a bottle of home-grown grape sour wine, and bowls 
of strawberries filling in the space. I must not forget 
several breads. Flies did not count. "Billy" re- 
marked that he would sit down with a swarm of bees 
in order to get so good a meal. 

My first visit to Gudgell & Simpson was in the 
summer of 1893, shortly before their show herd 
was shipped to the Chicago World's Fair, That was 
my first look at a real show herd, and there was a 
master to answer all questions. Perhaps it was a 
young man's earnestness, an ignorance frankly con- 

[37] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

fessed, but in the many years of my visits to him 
and his to us, and my persistence in hunting him up 
at shows, putting on one side of the scales what I 
learned from Gov. Simpson and on the other side 
all that I learned from all other sources, left his side 
the heavier. Much of my work in Texas goes back 
to him. Once we were looking at a remarkable 
bull. I said, "Governor, how much does that heart- 
girth mean in the whole problem?" He stood for 
a moment, looking the animal all over, and then, 
turning, he put his hand on my shoulder and said, 
"Everything; but let me tell you something: the 
front end of a Hereford will take care of itself; 
that is why he will be the redeemer of the range. 
That heart-girth will carry him over hard times, 
but you take my advice and spend your life build- 
ing up the hind end. I bought Anxiety 4th to do 
all I can in that direction. My life is slipping; 
yours is coming on. I hope you will use it for 
building up." When I come to the story of Imp. 
Majestic, I shall refer again to this vital quotation. 
When I went back to the Armour herd I took hours 
and days and weeks and years to study and apply 
his thought. An old man's dream had given a young 
man visions which neither could think of as extend- 
ing to the great range industry. 

In The Story of the Herefords Mr. Sanders gives 
so concise and comprehensive an account of the Gud- 
gell & Simpson herd that I shall not burden this 

[38] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

article with the process by which I think the greatest 
herd in the world was evolved. One thing, however, 
is pathetic : the necessity which caused them to drop 
the bull Druid out of their problem. It was heroic 
to kill him on account of his dangerous temper, but 
while Gov. Simpson had little to say about it I am 
sure that it was the sorrow of his life, and from 
Druid's comparatively small get his loss to the breed- 
ing Hereford world can never be estimated and, I 
am almost tempted to add, nor repaired. 

Another remark made by Gov. Simpson stuck. 
A perfect bull was being examined. I said, "Gov- 
ernor, do you mind going over this bull and pointing 
out where, if anywhere, he is defective?" Again 
he stood and looked for a long time; then, turning, 
he said, "Son, this is for you. I don't want to 
criticise another man's bull." Then he placed his 
hand on the defect, and added, "But when I hear of 
one absolutely perfect I am going just as far as he is 
to see him." 

Among the stalwarts of those times was John 
Sparks, originally from Georgetown, Tex., and after- 
wards governor of Nevada, and, as I recall it, the 
pioneer breeder of registered Herefords in the far 
northwest. He was also a large breeder of stock 
cattle, with ranges between Elko and Reno, Nev. 
His herd was almost wiped out by a severe winter 
in the '8o's. The friendship between Kirk Armour 
and John Sparks was one of those rare intimacies 

[39] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

which occur between men drawn together as if by 
a magnet, probably the closest intimacy Mr. Armour 
ever had in the cattle industry. Both had absolute 
faith in the great ranges becoming the great eventual 
source of well-bred cattle, and the foundation of 
my faith In that result came largely through being 
with them much, and hstening to their talks. And 
this reminds me of a thing which seems absurd, 
but in a way I still resent the advent of the auto. 
My mind goes back to the easy exchanges of long 
rides behind a team as against the difficulty of close 
conversation in a "jitney." 

In my early days on the range, driving all day 
with one of the Swensons, we would cover the whole 
ranch problem. Now the conversations are short 
and jerky in a car, and we find ourselves waiting 
for the journey's end, and crowding into an hour 
what we formerly took several days to drift over. 

John Sparks drew his basis for registered Here- 
fords from several of the best Missouri herds, and 
was In a sense forgotten until the records of Oregon, 
Nevada and northern California began to tell the 
story of improved range breeding. Mr. Sanders 
records that Sparks was the largest factor In that 
work. In 1899 Mr. Sparks sent a wonderful draft 
from his Reno herd, joining Kirk B. Armour and 
James A. Funkhouser in a public sale in Kansas 
City. For many years I looked after a lot of little 
private business for Mr. Sparks In Kansas City, and 

[40] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

probably the most important thing I did was to locate 
the supply for his annual 'possum dinner in Reno. 
He would wire the date, and I would set the word 
going for live 'possums. The Midland Hotel was 
Mr. Sparks' Kansas City headquarters, and all the 
official family loved him. The steward would set a 
cellar-room aside, and it became a veritable 'possum 
den during the period of accumulation. It is told 
of Mr. Sparks that he ran for governor to pardon 
a man who he was convinced was the victim of 
circumstances, and innocent. 

Another prominent man of those times was Frank 
Rockefeller. He was a close friend of Mr. Sparks 
and Mr. Armour. All of them bring to my mind 
the love of men vital in general industry for the 
country, and good cattle. Looking back over the 
history of men who have given their time and in- 
fluence to the upbuilding of the cattle industry, those 
who have appeared to play with it as a relaxation 
from their major business seem to have carried it 
through the dark periods, and while usually too 
busy to look after its details have been able to 
draw the right kind of men to them for that work. 
This brings another angle of thought: the herdsmen. 
Some have come into the limelight, but the great 
mass of faithful painstaking men In that class have 
been known only to one another, and a few out- 
siders. History means well, but the workers in the 
vineyard are seldom known to those who sip the wine. 

[41] 



CHAPTER V 

"billy" cummings: an all-round 
cattleman 

AMONG the men who stand out in my memory 
. as all-round cattlemen, "Billy" Cummings, 
cowbuyer for the Armour Packing Co., holds the 
record. He came to the packinghouse end from the 
farm through a long novitiate of feeding and trad- 
ing, and was probably as well liked by rangemen 
as any buyer ever in the yards. He was a wizard 
for getting "first" on trainloads of range cows. His 
knowledge of values was almost uncanny, since he 
almost invariably paid a price satisfactory to pro- 
ducers and with a killing test in line with killers' 
marginal averages. His purchases rarely showed 
either large profits or heavy losses. He had the 
rangeman's instinct for averages. 

I was thrown into close association with him in 
the early days of the Armour registered herd. He 
handled the private sales; I handled the public sales 
and general publicity. Few men are equally good 
in selling and buying. "Billy" was one of the few. 
His methods were not those of most salesmen, who 
suggest or lead. He pointed out, If possible, all his 
wares, without making a price, watched his cus- 

[42] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

tomers carefully for indications of their preferences, 
and worked to round lots, often pricing animals 
which they did not appear to fancy at high prices, 
but always making fair prices on those which they 
fancied. Where a selection was left to him he in- 
variably took a little the worst of it, on the theory 
that no advertisement is so effective as a pleased 
customer. Any one who did not know the business 
was absolutely safe in his hands. "Billy's" wide 
acquaintance with rangemen and his reputation for 
fair dealing were vital influences in the Armour 
establishment. Both Kirk B. Armour and "Billy" 
Cummings were distinct traders, and often gave me 
both the headache and heartache in disposing of 
something I wanted to keep for breeding purposes. 
Mr. Armour often said, "You know, Frank, I hke 
to buy and sell, and we will buy anything you want 
to keep things going, from a breeding standpoint; 
but you will have to get accustomed to a jolt now 
and then when it makes a good trade." 

"Billy" liked to buy good ones. He startled the 
breeding world when he visited the Elmendorf herd 
at Kearney, Neb., in 1897 and bought the Hereford 
show bull St. Louis at $800, the show cow Lady 
Laurel at $1,000 and Dimple, a daughter of Lady 
Daylight, at $700. Lady Laurel, after bringing 
the bull calf Laurette, sold in Armour's first public 
sale to T. F. B. Sotham for $1,000. The bull calf 
Laurette by Headlight sold in the same sale to D. W. 

[43] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

Hart, Partridge, Kans., and was acquired by Swen- 
son Bros, when they bought the Hart herd a few 
years later. 

That is a story I should perhaps tell here. Mr. 
Hart at public and private sales bought about 20 
head of Armour's cows and importations, each with 
a heifer calf at foot, at $300, calves not counted. 
"Billy" Cummings offered to take every bull calf 
at weaning time at $100 each for five years, as they 
were all in effect of Armour breeding, but Mr. Hart 
was dazzled by $1,000 cows, heifers and bulls and 
refused. Bad times came on, both as to season 
and price. His records were inaccurate, and just 
before I came to Texas C. R. Thomas, then secretary 
of the American Hereford Cattle Breeders' Associa- 
tion, asked me to go down and straighten him out. 
I have never seen a range herd that looked worse. 
Shortly after I went with the Swensons, he asked 
me to make him a bid on the entire herd, everything 
counted. The cattle were as well known to me as 
one's children. Without going to look at them I 
bid $50 per head, and took the lot, and a sorry lot 
it was upon the arrival of the cattle, but we applied 
the feed cross and did some culling; in fact, we have 
done some culling ever since, and the 253 breeding 
females, which are now in evidence in the S. M. S. 
registered Hereford herd, are the culled accumula- 
tion, forming perhaps the most distinct holding of 
the old Armour herd in existence. Last year we 

[44] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

bought from James McNeill, Spur, Tex., some 25 
registered young bulls, which came from a set of 
Armour cows bought by Mr. McNeill some ten years 
after the Hart purchase, and from which we were 
able to select several outstanding herd bulls. 

In the meantime, we are still using from Dr. 
Logan's Young Beau Brummel several herd bulls 
which were preceded by other bulls from his herd 
carrying the blood of Saint Grove, a bull by St. Louis 
and out of a The Grove 3d cow, both bought from 
Armour. We bought his entire bull calf crop for 
two years, selecting several herd bulls for our regis- 
tered herd, and on several occasions bought Gudgell 
& Simpson bulls and bulls by Majestic, Imported by 
Kirk B. Armour, with the net result that we secured 
a distinct Armour Anxiety combination. So again 
my chickens have come home to roost. 

When Mr. Armour bought Meadow Park, a farm 
south of Kansas City, from the Wornall estate, and 
moved everything from the Excelsior Springs farm, 
"Billy" Cummlngs moved out there, going to his 
home near Lawrence, Kans,, for week-ends. I was 
married In 1899; Mrs. Hastings and I moved out 
during the summers, and "Billy's" reminiscences are 
still a joy which we go over quite often. 

Meadow Park was a part of a famous battle 
ground during the Price raid In the Civil War. I do 
not remember whether that engagement was the same 
as the battle at Westport, where bullet holes still 

[45] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

show in some of the old brick buildings. The Yankee 
plan had been to fight Price just hard enough to let 
him advance slowly until he reached a big bend in 
the Missouri River between Kansas City and my 
birthplace, Leavenworth, Kans., where a trap had 
been laid. I recall the panic into which Leaven- 
worth was thrown. My earliest vivid recollection 
Is of my mother packing up to flee, and putting 
in some of my little playthings. Our town was 
entrenched and the home guard stood duty every 
night. The Wornall road between Westport, the 
country club and Meadow Park was the scene of the 
fight, and a Kansas regiment overdid the thing, 
spoiling the trap by fighting Price so hard that he 
turned back. The old Wornall homestead, built of 
brick In the old-fashioned solid way, still stands about 
a quarter of a mile towards town from Meadow 
Park. It became the hospital for both sides under a 
primitive iRed Cross. 

I recall the lines by the late Senator John James 
Ingalls on grass: "Fields trampled with battle, sat- 
urated with blood, torn with the ruts of cannon, 
grow green again with grass, and carnage is 
forgotten." 

Meadow Park carried scars over which grass, 
"nature's benediction,'* had been spread. One night 
a neighbor came to the farm. Inviting us to a chicken 
fry, given for the benefit of a Confederate Monu- 
ment Fund. As we chatted he remarked, "This 

[46] 



A RANCHMAN^S RECOLLECTIONS 

doesn't look like the place I fought over during the 
Civil War." "Billy" came alive like an old fire 
horse. "Fought over! Were you in that battle? 
I belonged to the Kansas regiment that turned you 
fellows back." The hghts faded. Mrs. Hastings 
and I were no longer there ; the house was gone, and 
these two old veterans looked out over fields and 
lived again on a battle ground, with questions and 
answers flying fast. "Where were you when we 
came up the slope? Did they take you to the old 
Wornall house? We filled our canteens at the spring 
down in the draw." When the lull came the Blue 
and the Gray arose at attention, hand met hand, and 
stood in a silence too sacred for us to break. After 
the old fellow had gone, "Billy" grew reminiscent, 
and one of his stories was so good that I want my 
readers to share it. 

Regiments on both sides during the Civil War did 
more or less foraging along the line of march. The 
captain of the company in the Kansas regiment, to 
which "Billy" Cummlngs belonged, had a peculiar 
code. He held his men down to a strict observance 
of decency in their foraging, but, when they got 
into trouble, backed them to a standstill. "Billy" 
said that one day on the march they noticed a farm- 
stead at which there were forty or fifty beehives. 
That night, with five or six others in their company 
he sneaked out four mules with wagon equipment 
and drove back to the bee-farm. They closed the 

[47] 



A RANCHMAN^S RECOLLECTIONS 

slides on eight or ten hives, loaded them in the 
wagon and began the drive back to camp, smacking 
their lips in anticipation of honey for breakfast. 
The bumpy road must have loosened the slides of 
several hives, so that all at once angry bees seemed 
to swarm from every side, settling on the men and 
sweating mules, and creating general havoc, including 
a classy runaway. The result was two Head mules 
and a demolished wagon. The boys had to make a 
clean breast of it to their captain, who promptly 
reported, "Two mules and one wagon lost in action." 
"Billy" Cummings retired under the Armour pen- 
sion system, after some 24 years of service. The last 
years of his life were hampered by some bone trouble 
in his legs. One foot was amputated, but he con- 
tinued to work in the yards for some time, often 
remarking that the new foot which had been given 
him was better than the other. Later he lost the 
other foot, and some complications resulted in his 
death. Few men in the Kansas City yards left so 
many friends or had so many unbroken, satisfactory 
relations with salesmen and producers as "Billy." 
He died aged 71 years at Lawrence, Kans., in 1919. 



[48] 



CHAPTER VI 

THE LATE MARCUS DALY 

AMONG prominent men with whom I have 
had passing association, few have left more 
pleasing or lasting impressions on me than Marcus 
Daly, the Montana "Copper King," and one of the 
world's greatest horse breeders. He came Into my 
life through a service which I was able to render 
him, and through his habit of paying all obligations 
at his earliest opportunity. I spent two months every 
spring with Armour brokers In the northwest and 
on the Pacific Coast. Montana was our great strong- 
hold. In that state I made some personal and busi- 
ness Intimacies which were real joys. The west 
everywhere Is big In Its manhood, Ideals and instincts, 
but somehow Montana seemed bigger than the rest. 
Distance did not mean anything; the people seemed 
to be one big family; everyone knew everyone else, 
and while all had their political differences and fac- 
tions they were a grand lot In their collective con- 
geniality. I have often thought that Marcus Daly, 
through his prominence as a horseman, who naturally 
followed great race meets over the state, did much 
to bring them together. 

The public may have a vague memory of the 

[49] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

Clark-Daly factions, but one had to know Montana 
to realize that practically the whole state had pos- 
itive opinions on the subject, the Daly element 
undoubtedly being the more popular one. That is a 
story that I shall not dip into here, although it 
would make a thriller. I took no sides, but my 
lines fell in largely with the Daly contingent, since 
it was one of comprehensive commercial interests, 
and, by contact, I learned of Mr. Daly's talent for 
picking men as well as horses. It was a great 
habit with him to select men between 25 and 40 
years of age, and set them up in business under 
their own names, with a liberal working interest. 
Few wealthy men I have known have done so much 
of this as he did. He was beloved of the working 
classes. He had begun with a shovel and a pick, 
knew the problems of the laboring class, treated 
workmen with outstanding fairness, and supplied 
every comfort and safety device for them in his mines 
and smelters. He practically built the wonderful 
town of Anaconda in Montana, where his smelters 
are located. The Anaconda Hotel of thirty years 
ago had all the "go" of New York, both as to fittings 
and cuisine, while The Anaconda Standard had its 
own leased wire, and carried the news of the world 
in line with the dailies in the great cities. Civic 
improvement was not overlooked. 

At Hamilton, in the beautiful Bitter Root Valley, 
were the great horse breeding stables and pastures, 

[50] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

including one-half and quarter-mile training tracks 
under roof. Horses were bred and trained in that 
high, rare atmosphere, giving them lung power and 
endurance over animals raised at lower levels. It 
was said of Mr. Daly that he knew the mark of 
every Thoroughbred racehorse in England or Amer- 
ica. He loved the breeding and training ends, equally 
with the racing end, and directed his own breeding, 
in connection with the counsel of experts. His 
great ambition was to win the English Derby. I 
recall once that in talking with him about breeding 
he said, "I want to breed a Derby winner. It is 
like shooting at the moon, but the fellow who does 
not shoot has no chance of hitting." He bred some 
great ones, but, as I recall it, never won the Derby. 
I have read many stories about Marcus Daly, 
which have referred to him as uneducated and un- 
couth. That is far from my own impression of the 
man. He probably had but httle actual schooling, 
but he was rich in the education and polish that 
come of contact. It was my good fortune to spend 
a number of evenings with Mr. Daly and his friends. 
On several of these occasions he became reminiscent, 
holding his hearers spell-bound under a flow of 
beautiful English, punctuated with rich Irish wit, 
thrilling adventure, some touches of pathos, and 
occasional approaches to the dramatic. I recall 
especially his account of an early-day wagon trail, 
and have always regretted my not having repro- 

[51] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

duced it, because it was by all odds the best story of 
that period that I have ever heard. My life has 
thrown me much with old-timers who followed the 
trail to the goldfields. 

I have always classed Mr. Daly among that won- 
derful galaxy of men who conquered the frontier, 
and were able to build character and education with 
world polish as they came along. His was indeed a 
charming personality; he was full of human kind- 
ness, a good friend, a good enemy, a builder, a 
benefactor of mankind. My most direct contact 
with him came in connection with one of his de- 
veloping plans. He resolved to build an abattoir 
at Anaconda, wishing chiefly to protect the hog- 
raising industry, and obtain a local beef and mutton 
supply. On one of my western trips he sent for me 
and said, "I have got a packinghouse which has lost 
$18,000 in twelve months. I want a man to run 
it who can make $18,000 in twelve months. Do 
you know where to find him?" I replied that busi- 
nessmen were shaking the bushes for that sort of 
fellow everywhere, but there might be one left. I 
put him in touch with W. N. Montgomery of St. 
Paul, Minn., who did the trick in eight months, and, 
upon Mr. Daly's death, took the plant over. 

Few know of Marcus Daly the cattleman. A 
brief reference to his limited operations appears in 
Alvin H. Sanders' book The Story of the Herefords, 
but even as well as I knew of his interests I was 

[52] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

surprised a year or so later, when he sent for me on 
one of my trips, and said that he was going to 
send Mr. Montgomery down to the Armour herd 
and buy a basis for a registered Hereford herd in 
the Madison Valley. I told him of a public sale 
that we were to make that fall. Montgomery was 
on hand, and bought a number of the best. Mr. 
Daly had paid his debt. 

I think that Mr. Daly, before his death, gave the 
herd and ranch to Montgomery. I know that he 
regarded Montgomery highly, and desired to per- 
petuate his own work by leaving it in good hands. 
Some of my Montana friends, and undoubtedly some 
of Montana's politicians, may differ with me, but 
according to my own observations of men, who have 
made a strong Impress upon the Industries and wel- 
fare of their state, Marcus Daly Is In the top-notch 
crowd. 

As to his characteristics, a little story — one of 
many stories which I picked up during my Montana 
travels — has always appealed to me. Among Mr. 
Daly's stalwart admirers in the state was one 
"Jerry" Flannagan. As the name Implies, he was 
a true "raw mouth Irishman." He was a conductor 
on the Great Northern Railroad between Anaconda 
and Havre. I think that he was on the first train, 
and hope that he is still running. It was said of 
"Jerry" and his opposite train companion, Frank 
Bingham, that they had never had a serious accident, 

[53] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

and never a damage suit. They fought snow and 
high water and were sometimes on duty for 48 
hours, but never lost a train. Whenever Mr. Daly's 
car was on "Jerry's" train it was said to be a picnic 
to hear those two Irish wits clash. It was even 
said that Mr, Daly sometimes just took the trip to 
cross swords with "Jerry." One of "Jerry's" most 
intimate friends, whose name I do not recall, but 
let us call it "O'Grady," had double-crossed Mr. 
Daly. I have said that Mr. Daly was a good friend 
and a good enemy. He bided his time. "Jerry," 
like everybody else in Montana, was a sport, as to 
"the ponies" in particular. On one of his trips over 
the line Mr, Daly handed "Jerry" $1,000 in cash, 
and said, " 'Jerry,' they are on to me, but I want to 
back Soothsayer in the Long Island meet. Place 
this for me, but don't bet a dollar of your own. I 
may be mistaken, but the odds are likely to be good, 
and I can afford to lose. I would not want you 
or your friends to lose; so don't say a word, and 
be sure not to tell O'Grady." 

"Jerry" placed the money, and Soothsayer got 
the flag. 

The next time "Jerry" met Mr. Daly he said, 
"That was a hell of a tip you gave me on Sooth- 
sayer." Mr. Daly expressed surprise, and said, "I 
was mistaken, 'Jerry,' but I cautioned you not to bet 
a dollar of your own money." Said "Jerry" : "With 
the great Marcus Daly backing a horse, what sort 

[54] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

of an Irishman do you think 'Jerry' Flannagan is 
to stay out? It's the children at home that are down 
to cornbread and molasses, with potatoes on Sunday." 
"But, 'Jerry,' I hope you did not tell any of your 
friends, including O'Grady." 

"Sure, Mr. Daly; I have no friends left, and 
O'Grady has a mortgage on his store." 

Several months later Mr. Daly placed $i,ooo on 
a horse that got his nose in front and sent the pro- 
ceeds to "Jerry," but the O'Grady mortgage still 
stuck. 

I cannot close this sketch without recording one 
of Mr. Daly's great commercial triumphs. I refer 
to the D. J. Hennessey Mercantile Co. of Butte, 
Mont. It operated an immense department store, 
which carried a stock that would have been a credit 
to any great city. Butte was an immensely pros- 
perous town. The concern made its own Paris im- 
portations. I recall attending a ball at Butte in 
the '90's at which I saw as many beautifully- 
gowned and jeweled women as I have ever seen at 
a great city function. Daly had backed the man 
who had the talent and let him do it in his own name. 



[55 J 



CHAPTER VII 

"the embalmed beef scandal" 

I OFTEN wonder, when I pick up a newspaper 
and see glaring headlines featuring some new 
investigation of the "big five packers," whether the 
public realizes that it forms its opinions from the 
accusations, and loses sight of any vindication which 
may come later. "The embalmed beef" and "canned 
roast beef" scandal which followed the close of the 
Spanish-American War turned the industry upside 
down as few things have done. Its long investiga- 
tion filled columns of the daily press for months, 
and yet few know that canned roast beef was re- 
stored as one of the great staples in the United States 
Army Commissary, and has been for twenty years. 
Nor did the public gather from the investigation 
that "embalmed" fresh beef was a myth in army 
rations. 

For ten years before going with the Kansas City 
Armours I was with a wholesale grocery house in 
Leavenworth, Kans. The purchasing commissary for 
furnishing supplies to frontier posts, at which the 
bulk of United States troops were rationed, was at 
Fort Leavenworth. The grocery firm was a large 
contractor In commissary supplies. From my earliest 

[56] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

business experience I was brought in contact with 
that work and the officers in charge. Shortly after 
going with the Armours I was given charge of com- 
missary supphes in their work, both for the American 
and Enghsh armies. It was under my direction that 
the process of canning uncooked bacon was evolved, 
simply applying the new process of sealing tins in a 
vacuum as against the old process of eliminating air 
by the application of heat. Canned bacon was 
originally introduced in i-pound and ^-pound cans 
for the retail trade in sliced form, and was the 
original of what is now packed in glass jars and seen 
In every retail grocery in America. When the 
product was announced The Kansas City Star pub- 
lished a staff story about it. Several days later we 
received a telegram from Maj. John Weston, pur- 
chasing commissary, stationed at San Antonio, Tex., 
asking for samples; upon receipt of which he wrote 
us that he was very much Interested in the product 
as a part of an emergency ration which the Govern- 
ment had under consideration. This gave me an 
idea, and I did not stop until It became a great 
factor In the supplies of the American and English 
armies, the latter using millions of pounds during 
the Boer War In 2^ and 5-pound cans, taking It 
originally raw, but later processed In the cans. 

Upon receipt of Maj. Weston's letter I urged the 
Armours to extend a cordial invitation to the com- 
missary department of the United States Army to 

[57] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

use their plant for any experiments that the army 
wished to make. This was done, an army board 
appointed and the original army emergency ration 
was worked out and manufactured in the Kansas 
City Armour plant. It consisted of dried beef, 
smoked and ground (moisture eliminated) and 
mixed with coarse-ground or rather cracked, parched 
wheat, which could either be eaten without treatment 
or made into a soup. To this were added three cakes 
of chocolate, to be eaten uncooked, or made into a 
drink; salt and pepper were added in individual 
papers. I was detailed to work with the board. I 
wanted bacon used for the meat part, and many 
officers did, but the medical division of the army 
fought it hard, because of the possibility of trichina, 
if eaten raw. In vain we argued that United States- 
inspected meat could be used. We conducted ex- 
periments, using heavily-infected trichina meat show- 
ing how the process of curing and smoking destroyed 
it. This was done by feeding it to sparrows and 
finding the cists undeveloped in their stomachs. Maj. 
Weston, however, did not give up his view of canned 
bacon as an eventual form for army use. He bought 
a carload, canned in the 5-pound size, using as nearly 
as possible two pieces to the can, the rind removed; 
this was put aboard a navy vessel and sent around 
the world, to test its keeping qualities in all climates. 
When the Spanish-American War broke out, 
Maj. Weston was made acting commissary general. 

[58] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

The story of our absolute unpreparedness, and of 
our little handful of regular soldiers, is too well 
known and too pathetic to be rehashed here. 

The foregoing may indicate my close contact with 
the commissary department for nearly twenty years 
previously to the Spanish War, during which time, 
among its many able officers, there were two: Gen. 
Weston and Gen. Alexander, who stood out with 
commanding force. Both were practical in commer- 
cial knowledge and instinct; both would have been 
among the great merchants of America, had their 
lives fallen in that direction. Gen. Weston was a 
brilliant, aggressive, do-it-yesterday type; Gen. 
Alexander was a calm, methodical, far-seeing man. 
They were perfect foils for each other. Their work 
threw them much together. Both were fair, exact 
and practical, with none of the army ego or red tape 
arbitrariness about them. I have never known two 
men in any walk of business life more delightful to 
deal with. 

As acting commissary general, Weston shared with 
the quartermaster department the first great prob- 
lems of the Spanish-American War. Stocks of 
canned corn beef were small, and the process of 
curing meant time. Canned roast beef, really boiled 
beef, required only the time for killing, cooling and 
boiling. Gen. Weston seized upon it as immediately 
available, while corn beef was being cured, and in- 
tended to use canned bacon for the major meat 

[59] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

element, with a stew of vegetables and meat In 
canned form, packed in a liquor or gravy, on which 
he made experiments with the Franco-American soup 
people, all the packers and other conservers bearing 
carefully in mind that it must be palatable. 

I was in Montana on the night of Dewey's vic- 
tory. My firm wired me that Gen. Weston had 
asked to have me come to Washington, to help him 
work out the canned bacon problem. In Kansas 
City Kirk B. Armour joined me, and we went to 
Washington, to find that Gen. Weston had been sup- 
planted by the appointment of Gen. Egan as actual 
commissary general, and that Weston had been sent 
to Tampa, Fla., in charge of the southern base. It 
is not my thought to criticize Gen. Egan. He was 
wholly blameless as to the charge of embalmed beef, 
but he made a bad mistake In not following Gen. 
Weston's recommendation as to canned bacon, as 
will be seen later. Everything was confusion In 
Washington. Egan had not had Weston's expe- 
rience, nor did he have Weston's commercial instinct. 
I did not know any of Gen. Weston's plans, except 
to surmise, but in the Interview Mr. Armour and I 
had with Gen. Egan we cautioned him about send- 
ing uncanvassed bacon into tropical countries. So 
many things were happening, however, that It was 
unheeded or overlooked. 

I followed Gen. Weston to Tampa, and found that 
his problem was a statute specification which re- 

[60] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

quired that issue bacon should be from the bacon 
short, clear side of commerce; that he could not 
under the law buy and can bacon bellies, which up 
to that time had been the only cut used for canned 
bacon. He instructed me to have the regular issue 
cut put into from 6-pound to 14-pound cans, using 
as few pieces to the can as possible, but with the 
rind on, and as little waste as possible, sending sam- 
ples to him, and duplicates to the commissary gen- 
eral. I had worked on the product so long that I 
was able to give my house by wire comprehensive 
details. The samples were forwarded promptly, and 
Gen. Weston recommended that bacon be used in 
canned form. I learned later that one of the vital 
reasons for this was that when lightering from a 
vessel in the surf bacon saturated with salt water 
becomes limp. The canned form gave the only pro- 
tection, and in turn would keep and be free from 
maggots in tropical climates, while any fat melting 
from heat was available for general cooking. 

Years afterward Gen. Weston told me that while 
In Cuba the carload of canned bacon that he had 
bought and sent around the world came in on the 
vessel and was lightered in the surf in perfect condi- 
tion at a time when it was vitally needed. I think 
it was sent to the San Juan Hill fighters. The com- 
missary general turned the Weston recommendation 
down, but just before the close of the war bought 
heavily in %-pound tins, canceling the bulk of these 

[61] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

orders on account of peace being declared before they 
could be filled. 

While at Tampa Weston asked me to send him 
several iced boxes of fresh beef, which he could set 
out in the sun and let spoil, in order to get a line 
on how far beef in that form might prove available. 
It was purely an experiment, the beef never having 
been intended to be used, and it never was used. 
The celebrated "embalmed beef" scandal came from 
a similar experiment. 

In May, 1898, one Alex. B. Powell proposed to 
process fresh meat for the Government by purifying 
the germs of meats so that they would withstand 
the destructive elements of any climate and keep in 
perfect condition four to ten days. He quoted as 
reference the managers of various southern hotels 
who had used meat prepared under his process, and 
proposed to treat meats for ^' of a cent per pound 
for the Government. In the investigation which fol- 
lowed there was only one testimony among a mass 
of testimony submitted that did not agree that the 
quantity of food was not only abundant but of good 
quality. The exception was that of Dr. W. H. Daly, 
major and chief surgeon on the staff of Gen. Nelson 
A. Miles, who supported Daly in his testimony. 
Dr. Daly's report of Sept. 21, 1898, was as follows: 

"I have the honor to report. In the interest of the 
service, that in several inspections made In the vari- 
ous camps and troopships at Tampa, Jacksonville, 

[62] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

Chickamauga, and Porto Rico, I found the fresh 
beef to be apparently preserved with secret chemicals, 
which destroy its natural flavor, and which I also 
believe to be detrimental to the health of the troops." 

General Miles stated before the commission : 

"There was sent to Porto Rico 337 tons of what 
is known as so-called refrigerated beef, which you 
might call embalmed beef." 

Dr. Daly testified that a sample of broth taken by 
him from a kettle of boiling beef, on being analyzed, 
exhibited the characteristics of boric and salicylic 
acids. The testimony by Gen. Weston disposes of 
the charge that the beef seen by Dr. Daly at Tampa 
was furnished by contractors, or issued to the troops. 
Gen, Weston testified that it was permitted to Ed- 
wards & Powell, who were interested in a preserving 
process, to place a few carcasses of beef aboard the 
Comal at Tampa for a demonstration of its keeping 
qualities under severe tests, but that none of the meat 
so treated was rationed out. The report by Brig.- 
Gen. Charles P. Eagen of the Subsistence Depart- 
ment contained the following, page 151: 

"Our investigation showed that rations were is- 
sued, as per published schedules, and always on hand 
in abundance. The department exercised great vigi- 
lance in the inspection of all articles, and obtained, 
so far as we can ascertain, the best quality for the 
price paid." 

Numerous tests were also made by outside chem- 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

ists, at the instigation of the commission, of both 
fresh and canned beef, and the reports throughout 
specified that no trace of preservatives was dis- 
covered. 

From the foregoing It will be seen that whatever 
overtures were made to use preservatives In fresh 
meats were made by the Inventors of a process direct 
to the Government, which, had they been adopted, 
would have been a contract between the inventors 
and the Government to treat meats received In nor- 
mal condition from the packers, and In which the 
packers had no Interest or part. The public, how- 
ever, picking up the first sensational headlines read- 
ing "embalmed beef" jumped to the conclusion that 
It was packer doings, and It stuck for years, although 
In the Investigation the embalmed beef charge was 
passed quickly, and everything centered upon the 
"canned roast beef scandal." Before going Into that 
I should like to devote a minute to publicity, and 
how it came about. 

While I was at Tampa the journalistic world was 
marking time. I do not suppose that a greater 
aggregation has ever been together since that time 
until the Paris treaty meet. Among them was one 
Whelphly, who later sprang the Interview with Gen. 
Miles, In which the embalmed beef charge was made. 
Whelphly had been a staff writer on The Kansas 
City Star, and I had often come In contact with him 
In connection with Armour publicity, due to my fol- 

[64] 



i ■£ 




I 



:J 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

lowing out a consistent plan of helping writers in 
general to a story in or out of my business when- 
ever opportunity permitted. He was among the 
ablest writers whom I have known, and had a keen 
scent for news, never yellow and never a gorilla, 
but having written stories in our plant in connection 
with army rations he knew of my association with 
supplies, and spotted me within an hour of my 
arrival. 

They were all waiting for the first move, and 
restive; there was no material for a story, and I am 
sure that only my long association with Whelphly 
saved his jumping at a conclusion story. I think 
that it was the most difficult interview that I have 
ever had. I told him that my advent meant abso- 
lutely nothing to any movement; that it was the 
result of two things: First, to keep in touch with 
things from our own standpoint; second, to get defi- 
nite instructions from Gen. Weston to prepare sam- 
ples of several products in various forms, which 
meant nothing for immediate use. I said that I had 
absolutely no lines on any plans that the Govern- 
ment might have. He took me at my word, gave 
the line to the journalistic fraternity, and not a single 
item went out of Tampa as to my appearance there, 
nor was there any justification for any. 

I have devoted these paragraphs to Whelphly by 
way of vindicating his eventful article. I am sure 
that while he of course knew its value as a story 

[65] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

he had seen Daly's report, and, not knowing that 
the meats were hung up for a test, was convinced 
of its correctness. I have always felt, too, that the 
charge that Gen. Miles had a presidential bee in his 
bonnet and gave the interview out for political pur- 
poses was without foundation. I knew him from my 
earliest boyhood at Fort Leavenworth, and have 
always had the deepest respect for him as a soldier 
and as an Individual. He was a great sport. I 
recall that in winter when the snow fell they closed 
the main business street for three hours every after- 
noon, giving It over to racing. Gen. Miles always 
brought in several good horses, and was probably 
the most popular officer ever in command at Ft. 
Leavenworth. 

Canned roast beef was put In by Gen. Weston 
because it was available quickly. It was soon found 
that so much of it was wanted that It took not only 
the available canner cattle but good cutting cattle. 
Canned beef usually is made from the lean parts of 
thin cattle. The use of fatter cattle Involved more 
fat, which melted in hot climates. Roast beef was 
used as a travel ration and, with the melted fats, 
was unsightly; it was used excessively In camp, and 
was not always mixed with vegetables. Packers 
always let canned meats stand on the tables long 
enough to detect leakers, but the Government was 
pushing every packer in America for deliveries, and 
did not allow enough time to detect leakers, the con- 

[66] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

tents of which quickly spoil. A carload of canned 
meats opened in Georgia, with a few burst leakers, 
would convince any normal person who stuck his 
nose In the car that the whole car was rotten. When 
the Investigation came there was plenty of testimony 
from soldiers who had gone stale on roast beef 
that It was not a wholesome ration. The fault was 
not with the product but rather with Its excessive 
use. During the Investigation I was asked whether 
I had not discouraged the use of roast beef, and 
urged the substitution of canned bacon. I replied 
that I had followed Gen. Weston's thought of canned 
bacon and my own persistent attempts to Introduce 
it in both the American and English armies, with 
great success in the latter, but at no time had I 
ever urged against roast beef. 

I shall not attempt to follow the detail of the 
Investigation, which resulted in a Scotch verdict, 
and a firm Imprint in the public mind that It was 
unwholesome, with an automatic throw-out from 
commissary supplies. The startling thing which I 
wish to record is that while I was In the office of 
the commissary general. Gen. Weston, some months 
after the investigation, I was shown a cablegram 
from Gen. McArthur, then stationed in the Philip- 
pines, ordering an appreciable quantity of canned 
roast beef. Gen. Weston replied that, in view of 
public opinion, he did not feel justified in filling the 
order. Gen. McArthur replied that a canned, un- 

I67] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

salted meat was vital in his work, and that he must 
have it. The order was filled, and canned roast 
beef or boiled beef came back permanently into the 
ration of the American Army. The only difference 
in the product was that instead of meat boiled in 
great quantities and compressed, it is packed in as 
few pieces to the can as possible. It is the same 
meat and represents the same general character of 
preparation, but the public does not know it. There 
have been no headlines of vindication and the taint 
on the packers still stands, except in so far as it has 
been forgotten. 

The commissary of the United States Army began 
to build upon its Spanish-American War experience. 
The obsolete short, clear bacon side was supplanted 
by bacon bellies, clear of seed, put down green under 
inspection, examined several times in the process 
of curing, shrunk specially when smoked, prime in 
every respect, canned for warm climates. It is nota- 
ble that no word of complaint has at any time been 
voiced in the public press as to the commissary 
work of the recent war, nor would this article be 
complete without my speaking of the wonderful re- 
sponse which packers, great and small, and the live 
stock industry at large, gave to the country's call 
to feed not only our own boys but the armies and 
peoples of the allied world. There is no regret; the 
whole industry from producer to packer would re- 
spond just as quickly again, but the whole industry 

[68] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

has had more or less of the hot end ever since, and 
in the producer's camp we are wondering to some 
extent what we are going to do with all our she- 
stuff. The shambles form the only present outlet. 
The cost of production is increasing by leaps and 
bounds ; consumption is decreasing by the same stages. 
Where are we "at" ? 

The "in-and-outers" in the industry have in all 
probability not fared so well as those who have stayed 
in, taking the lean years with the fat ones. Many 
men on the producing side are pretty well discour- 
aged, and will undoubtedly get out, or reduce their 
operations; but there will be plenty to stick, and that 
will be the S. M. S. policy. 



[69] 



CHAPTER VIII 

THE "baby" beef IDEA 

FOR many years the agricultural press has at 
times, in a casual way, credited me with being 
a pioneer in pushing range-bred calves to be matured 
as finished beeves In the corn belt at an age not ex- 
ceeding twenty months. While I have devoted twenty 
years of my life to that work, the Idea was in the 
main obtained from T. F. B. Sotham long before I 
had any thought of becoming Identified with range 
work, and while many feeders undoubtedly were try- 
ing it in a small way, even before Mr. Sotham took It 
up, he was the first to get behind It in any definite 
way. While It was sure eventually to come, his initial 
work brought Its first Impetus, introducing it as a 
distinct phase of the feeding Industry years before Its 
natural evolution could have been brought about. 

When I began my work with the Armour herd 
"Tom" Sotham was a "live wire" in extending the 
use of registered Hereford bulls into the range. He 
made many visits to range herds, came in contact 
with the big and little men of the range, recognized 
the rapid Improvement that had been made, initiated 
some experiments as to the outcome and became con- 
vinced that the market for registered bulls would 

[70] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

increase directly in proportion to the benefits that 
breeders received from their use. My attention 
was first called to his work when he made an effort 
to induce a number of ranchmen to contribute to a 
public sale lOO good steer calves, or, say, two car- 
loads each, to be placed by him, and developed into 
"baby beef." He had every natural condition against 
him. Tradition said that finished beef under three 
years lacked flavor; feeders were skeptical about 
blackleg, ticks, the cost of development, brands and 
comparative market prices as against older cattle; 
there was no export demand for that class; acclima- 
tion was a deterrent factor, and, in fact, from every 
angle it was a leap into the dark. 

Producers naturally wanted to send their best, and 
they knew the curse which is put on a topped herd, 
no matter how small the cut. They had misgivings 
as to the net result from the sale of calves as against 
their spring clearances of yearlings to the northwest. 
They were in the habit of selling their drop, less a 
lo per cent cut, to one buyer, and did not cotton to 
dividing up among several small buyers or selling 
at public sale at some eastern center. Trails to the 
railroad were often 50 to 100 miles, and according 
to the old ranch code that meant trailing the cows to 
the railroad with their calves, and the cows back 
home. "Tom" was "up against it" on both sides; 
progress was slow. The story is too long for all 
the details. 

[71] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

Without really knowing it I brought Sotham's 
idea with me in the back of my head to Texas. A 
year here developed it, and I sprang it on the Swen- 
sons, who gave their consent, and in the second year 
we brought all of our steer calves, born by June i, 
to Stamford in late October, classified them, put them 
in feedlots on a maintenance ration, composed of cot- 
tonseed cake, cottonseed hulls, sorghum hay, and 
black-strap molasses, properly balanced and mixed 
with mathematical precision by machinery, and sold 
them as buyers wanted them, any time between 
November i and April i, adding the cost of main- 
tenance to them; which, in the first year, was $1.50 
per month. At that time it was thought that cot- 
tonseed meal, except in a limited quantity, would 
kill a calf. 

I proposed to my people that we test it out and 
kill 100 heifer calves by getting them up to a full- 
feed, and feeding them until the following May. 
The experiment was on; we got up to as much as 
4 pounds of meal per day, 2 pounds of molasses, and 
all the hulls and sorghum hay (about half-and-half) 
that they would eat. On about May i we sold the 
entire 100 head, fat, without any evidence of "meal 
evil," netting fairly well on them. We went out to 
the cornbelt with the broad statement that well-bred 
Texas calves were good enough for any cornbelt 
feedlot. Many of our fellow producers joined in the 
plan. In the meantime the Department of Agricul- 

[72] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

ture had been working on the economies of baby 
beef, giving it much encouragement; feeders were 
experimenting with good results; the cornbelt was 
becoming interested; pilgrimages were being made, 
and mail inquiry was becoming enormous, but few 
producers were willing to sell less than their drop. 
We were probably the advance guard selling any 
considerable number, one or more cars, as wanted. 
This was made possible by concentration, classifica- 
tion, and straight cut-offs, which has since been 
changed, to the extent of selling in advance, and ship- 
ping all of one class from one ranch, at the same time, 
first grading to a standard and loading by a straight 
cut-oft. 

We soon found that our difficulty was in getting 
feeders who wanted only one or two cars to come 
down. This in turn evolved the mail order idea, 
one which obtains to a much larger degree over the 
whole range country than is generally known. There 
were many headaches and some heartaches in the 
pioneer work. I recall that John Camp, Harris- 
town, 111., a feeder himself, and acting as agent for 
us, brought down a number of his neighbors. We 
had concentrated 3,000 steer calves and 1,200 year- 
ling steers in our pens. His men were slow, and 
walked and walked, looking at the cattle in different 
pens. Mr. Camp, E. P. Swenson and I sat on a 
fence waiting for them to get through. The humor 
of the work struck me, and I said: "John, I dreamed 

173] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

last night that conditions had changed; some fifty 
cornbelt feeders were here, and I said, 'Line up, gen- 
tlemen, for your turn,' The first man up and asked 
the price, and whether I did not think it a little high; 
to which I replied, 'Get down, and give the next 
man a chance.' Then I woke up with a cold sweat 
all over me." 

Many years after, during a season in which we 
did not have half enough calves to go around, Mr. 
Camp wrote me: "Your dream has about come 
true." 

I shall not attempt to follow our own public sales 
with C. C. Judy at Tallula, 111., or "Tom" Sotham's 
attempt to build up a great public sale business at 
Kankakee, 111., except to speak with pride of "Tom's" 
great come-back in recent years in handling public 
sales of registered cattle, and one incident in our own 
work which gave me the final stimulus to go on, in 
the face of difficulties. 

We announced a public sale In carlots for February 
I, in 1905, at Tallula, 111. Every one thought that 
I was crazy to ship cattle in mid-winter for public 
sale, but probably no one knew that we were get- 
ting short of water in our feed pens, which were 
supplied from the city supply, and were forced to 
do something. We started 1,000 calves and year- 
lings In a bad storm ; they reached Tallula when there 
was an 18-Inch snow, on the level. Two days before 
the sale the mercury dropped to 20 degrees below 

[74] 



it 

I 




CJ 



Co 



m\\ 



„:j!^wi 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

zero. We sold the cattle in a tent, when the weather 
was lo degrees below, shipped them over a wide 
radius, did not lose a single head, and every carload 
made a good market record that summer or fall. 
After that I was sure that Texas had the goods to 
stand any climate, and it was just a matter of stay- 
ing with the enterprise. 

A rather amusing incident occurred while we were 
at Tallula. I had taken two outstanding cowboys 
with me, men who simply had to know what was to 
be done, and did it in spite of hell and high water. 
They had been up there with me in the fall, when 
the red apples hung on the trees, and the weather 
was fine. They loved it, but with 20 degrees below 
zero weather we cut holes in ice on ponds and drove 
the cattle out, so that their weight would flood the 
surface. 

We were spelling each other cutting through the 
two feet of ice, and I was resting, after my turn, 
when the humor of the situation struck me, and I 
began a rhapsody on the beauty of , the north. 
*'Boys," I said, "I was born in the north. I love 
these snow-clad hills, this bounty of ice and the 
splendid invigoration of zero temperature." For 
some minutes I did a good job in a grandiloquent 
way. Finally one of them rested on his axe, and, 
turning with a look of supreme disgust, said, "You 
can take your damned north and go to hell with it; 
I wish I was there with you to warm up some." 

[75] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

In the years during which the International classes 
have dropped out the three-year-olds and the cham- 
pionships gone to yearlings until a great feeder like 
John G. Imboden asserts that there should be two 
championships, one for two's and one for yearlings, 
because the two's no longer have a look-in ; when the 
yearling markets are on the average higher than for 
the heavier classes; when we no longer read that 
flavor only comes with age; when the Department of 
Agriculture is insistent that the economic production 
of finished beef is in the yearling class, it would seem 
that calves at weaning time, furnished in great num- 
bers from the ranges, have come to stay. My own 
part in the change has been much smaller than I am 
often credited with; it has simply been the logical 
result of a study made by feeders, abetted by the 
splendid work of agricultural colleges, and the re- 
search work of the United States Department of 
Agriculture. 



[76] 



CHAPTER IX 

SOME JOURNALISTS I HAVE KNOWN 

I OFTEN think that the law of contact has more 
to do than any other factor with our lives. Ac- 
cording to some notable opinions coming out of our 
colleges the value of erudition is outweighed by the 
human factor of contact with young men and women 
from every part of America, each contributing some 
developing influence. In my own life the look-back 
over the journalists whom I have met seems to be 
the greatest asset in my human savings bank. Father 
Bigelow was the editor of The Notre Dame Scholas- 
tic in 1876, while I was attending Notre Dame Uni- 
versity. He told me that I had some inherent quali- 
fications for journalism, but that I was rottenly crude, 
being too much inclined to bombast and sentiment, 
and needing a fine-tooth comb, which he presented 
in the way of reading a chapter from Addison's 
Spectator every day, and reproducing it from mem- 
ory the next day. I wish that I had been more per- 
sistent, but it was like doing the "setting-up" exercises 
every morning — good things, but how many stick to 
them? 

After I came out of Ann Arbor I loafed my off- 
duty hours about newspaper oflSces, and rather drifted 

{77^ 



A RANCHMAN^S RECOLLECTIONS 

among newspapermen, some of whom have filled, 
or are filling, high places. I have, however, made 
it a consistent part of my life never to look up men 
who have grown great. William Allen White was 
a cub reporter on The Kansas City Star in my 30's, 
and I treasure in my scrapbook a generous review 
by him of some work I did. George Horace Lori- 
mer, the brilliant editor of The Saturday Evening 
Post, was with the Chicago Armours while I was with 
the Kansas City house. We were cordial friends. 
The following lines by him have probably passed out 
of his memory, but, after all, greatness is only a 
discovery, and while I have been told that John Hay 
was ashamed of his Pike County Ballads, it has never 
seemed possible that the man who wrote Jim Bludso 
or Little Breeches could possibly wish to disown them. 
Mr. Lorimer may not feel the same way about his 
verse, because while he rose to greatness in his book 
The Letters of a Self-Made Merchant to His Son, 
in which he has drawn a wonderful picture of the 
late Philip D. Armour's sound basic business philos- 
ophy, he may shy at being credited with doggerel. 
We were getting out the Christmas edition of our 
weekly price list. It was elaborately decorated with 
holly, Christmas bells and steaming plum pudding, 
with a New Year's poem (doggerel) from my pen. 
The excuse for reproducing the three stanzas is to 
permit a comparison of it with Mr. Lorimer's clever 
parody : 

[78] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

A NEW YEAR'S THOUGHT. 

A moan and the old year passes away; 

A smile and the new one is born; 
A world of hope for the coming day, 

And a sigh for the one that is gone. 

Here's a cup of joy for every home, 

With hearts full of happy love; 
Another glass for those who roam, 

And a blessing for all from above. 

Here's a word of regard and memories kind 

For our patrons far and near: 
A voice of thanks on every wind. 

And for all a Happy New Year. 

The reply follows: 

A NEW YEAR'S THOUGHT. 
(After the Kansas City Bard.) 

A grunt and the old hog passes away, 
And along on the hooks he's borne, 

And it's sausage he'll be on the coming day, 
And hams and sides and brawn. 

Here's a pail of lard for every home, 

And a kit of pickled feet, 
And regular tripe or honeycomb 

And a thousand things to eat. 

Here's our business card and wholesale list 

For our patrons far and near: 
Don't go to Missouri to get your grist — 

You can buy it cheaper here. 
— The Sweet Singer of the Chicago Stock Yards. 

[79] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

The only other notice my verse received was from 
an Arizona editor, who said: 

"The Armours are out with a very touching New Year's 
poem to their customers, most of whom would have appre- 
ciated more a reduction of ^ of a cent per pound on hams 
and bacon." 

The late Wm. R. Nelson, familiarly known as 
"Baron Bill Nelson of Brush Creek," owner and 
editor of The Kansas City Star, was the most remark- 
able personality that I have ever known in the news- 
paper world. He and Kirk B. Armour were close 
friends. Mr. Nelson often accompanied us on our 
herd inspections; In fact, he was a neighbor, having 
developed, just beyond Meadow Park Farm, a beau- 
tiful tract, stocked with registered Shorthorns, of 
which breed he was a life-long and consistent cham- 
pion. The improvements in the way of barns, gran- 
aries and the like were the best that I have ever seen. 
It was not a mere plaything, as his constructive work 
with Shorthorns at SnI-A-Bar demonstrates. A per- 
sonality which could develop, In my memory. In a 
moderate-sized Inland city, an evening paper from a 
struggling initiative to one of the recognized best 
dailies In the United States, naturally left lasting Im- 
pressions on me, even during my limited association 
with him. He was a picker of men. I wish that I 
had the space In which to review the brilliant galaxy 
which functioned In his office. 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

I obtained my first realization of the rapidly grow- 
ing importance of the Argentine cattle industry from 
comments which Mr. Nelson and Mr. Armour made 
after seeing a ship's cargo unloaded in England about 
the time of the Paris exposition, and before England 
put the ban on live cattle for immediate slaughter. 
They were discussing It after their return, when Mr. 
Armour turned to me and said, "We think we are 
doing wonderful things on our ranges in the improve- 
ment of cattle, but, mark my word, we have a real 
competitor springing up in South America, and he is 
pushing us close now." Mr, Nelson put in a cross- 
cut as to the preponderance of Shorthorn which Ar- 
gentina was using, and yet both spoke of the excellent 
whiteface steers in the shipment. 

It was my thought in this sketch to review agricul- 
tural writers, and while I could drift on for pages 
concerning those near and dear, as well as brilliant 
writers, with whom a casual association has occurred, 
I have drifted as much perhaps as space will permit. 

As I come to the men who have lived in my real 
world, I sit for a moment with the ink drying on 
my pen, trying to decide how I shall attempt to write 
of one to whose memory every lover of God's great 
outdoors rises and stands at attention. There is a 
little monument to that memory before which I want 
to stand sometime before I die, and breathe a prayer 
of gratitude to God who sends men of that sort to 
work in the vineyard. 

[8i] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

Dear old "Joe" Wing!* There is a soft place in 
my heart as I reach my word to his memory, and 
the tear which stains the page seems sacred to an 
association which was all beauty and joy. He sang 
like the mocking bird that I hear all day long as I 
drive over vast areas. Always on the topmost bough, 
his heart flowing through his wonderful throat into 
a never-ending song of love of the world and praise 
to the Master. It is difficult to say anything of 
"Joe" which has not been well said. He was a 
dreamer of dreams, with the courage and industry 
to make them come true, and when his time came his 
train of mourners comprehended the whole agricul- 
tural world, on which his impress has been deeper 
and more permanent than that of any other writer 
who loved the fields, herds and flocks, and punctu- 
ated his stories with a love of mankind. 

In the earliest days of my connection with the cat- 
tle industry I came in contact with a modest, retiring 
personality that I soon discovered was a tower of 
strength and concentrated ability, whose application 
to study and work as an editor for more than thirty 
years, and whose writings on breeds, as well as ab- 
stract thought, have instructed, guided and inspired 
every live stock breeder. Alvin H. Sanders has done 
so much, constructive work outside of his journalistic 



*The late Joseph E. Wing of Ohio was for many years and 
until his death in 1915 a staff correspondent of The Breeder's 
Gazette. 

[82] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

profession that an attempt to review it, except by 
mere touches, would be to repeat what breeders and 
stockmen are familiar with. My comments will there- 
fore be confined to personal reminiscences, but I can- 
not pass on without expressing the pride that I take 
in the wonderful literature, both technical and philo- 
sophic, which he has given us. I recall recently 
having sent his In Winter Quarters to my daughter 
In an eastern college, with the suggestion that it be 
given to her Instructor In English as a classic of 
western literature, and a gem of descriptive and 
philosophic English. 

When Herefords began to come back In the early 
'90's the late Kirk B. Armour was better known Indi- 
vidually among rangemen than any other man, not 
actually In the range industry. When in town he 
always rode, a part of each market day, with his 
buyers In the Kansas City yards. His advice as to 
the policy of Improvement was sought daily. His 
verbal and pubhc print universal statement was, "I 
beheve that only the best results can come from 
introducing registered bulls, regardless of what beef 
breed the buyer may select." The Hereford associa- 
tion wanted to elect him president. Mr. Sanders, 
anticipating that the members would do so, came to 
me to get Mr. Armour's photograph. The Armours 
did not believe In that sort of publicity, but I did, 
and, knowing how I would be "landed on," I fur- 
nished the photograph, which was reproduced on the 

[83] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

front cover page of The Breeder's Gazette, The 
storm broke, as I had expected. I had never known 
Mr. Armour to be so provoked as when he stood at 
my desk and said: "This is some of your work, and 
I do not like it." Next S. B. Armour "landed," and 
then Herman O. Armour, who happened to be out 
from New York, took a shot; and finally Philip D. 
Armour gave me a "once-over." All did a good job. 
To all I made the reply that the name Armour was 
on goods in most foodshops in America; that Kirk 
Armour was personally the public sponsor for cattle 
improvement, and had been honored with a great 
office; that it was good general publicity to bring the 
name pleasantly before the public; that they could 
fire me, but that I would never lose an opportunity to 
do the kind of thing that I had done. Of course, it 
all blew over, in good nature, but It was years before 
I could get Kirk Armour to "stand hitched." Mr. 
Sanders and he were great friends. Mr. Armour 
valued his opinion higher than that of anyone in or 
out of the industry. 

During the Paris exposition Mr. Sanders became 
very much interested in Limousine French cattle, and 
in Normandie cattle of the milking strains. He wrote 
us his impressions. Mr. Armour instructed me to 
write to him to buy a string of both, and send them 
to us, and added: "We shall buy some of the milk- 
ing Shorthorns of England, some Ayrshires from 
Scotland, and some Jerseys and Guernseys. Have 

[84] 



A RANCHMAN^S RECOLLECTIONS 

them all tested before shipment, and they must be 
tested In quarantine, giving us a certified dairy herd; 
then we will start a dairy on the Jewett Farm with 
up-to-date appointments, have our milkers disin- 
fected and sell certified milk." 

It was only one of the many progressive things 
that he wanted to do, but with his declining health I 
had Instructions to find some reason why they could 
not be done. I shall not burden this sketch with par- 
ticulars concerning what I did. It was a great sor- 
row to have to find reasons for not doing things, 
when I wanted him to do them all. I could fill pages 
with accounts of the delightful visits that I have had 
with Mr. Sanders on farms, when looking over cattle, 
and chats in his office and at shows and sales which 
have been my privilege with the gifted editor, and it 
would probably surprise his modest estimate of him- 
self if he knew how much of his wisdom that I have 
utilized. 

The late W. R. Goodwin, associate editor of The 
Breeder's Gazette, received so many deserved eulo- 
gies following his death that I shall only pause to 
add my personal opinion of his great work in mak- 
ing The Breeder's Gazette an acknowledged leader 
of the world's agricultural publications. My last 
Interview with him occurred when he was preparing 
his great editorial review of the world war beef situ- 
ation. He outlined much of it, and I carried away 
the deepest impression of how carefully and analyt- 

[85] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

Ically great questions were studied and weighed by 
him before they found expression. In over thirty 
years of our close association, when I wanted a pro- 
found opinion I sought him. I recall that when in 
Florida, in the winter of 1917, I met him casually in 
a restaurant in Jacksonville. His and my time was 
limited, but in talking an hour over the studies that I 
had been making, everything that I wrote later about 
Florida carried his impress. 

Among the bright men whom I saw much of in the 
early public sale days was Geo. P. Belows, an 
unusually handsome man, of strong personal mag- 
netism, grace of manner and decisive, courteous 
speech. It was in every way logical that he should 
drift into the live stock auctioneering business, in 
which, but for his untimely accidental death, I am 
confident that he would have become the premier, 
and yet the agricultural press lost a great exponent 
when he changed his vocation. 



[86] 




The late Kirkland B. Armour, head of the house o^ Armour y Co., Kansas City 



CHAPTER X 

KIRK B. ARMOUR AS I KNEW HIM 

MANY references in this series have been made 
to the late Kirk B. Armour. They are Inter- 
woven with his association with men and events in 
preceding chapters. I shall therefore try to make 
this sketch resemble an Intimate personal portrait. 
I came in contact with him by chance in 1 889. It was 
one of those chances which confirm the thought that 
while It is every man's province to figure his future, 
as one would do a sum, the real Influences In our lives 
usually come from the most unexpected sources. This 
statement sounds fatalistic, but it Is not so intended. 
Senator Ingalls wrote that "opportunity knocks but 
once and, passing, knocks no more"; but he was mis- 
taken. It is knocking all the time; and Intelligence, 
Intuition, or free moral agency decides what oppor- 
tunity offers. 

I had gone into the Kansas City Armour's office 
with a Government Inspector, who had some business 
there, while I had none. As I sat waiting, practically 
without realizing why it was done, I walked into the 
main ofl^ce, and asked if the house needed anyone on 
the trade-getting side. I then came for the first time 
In contact with a personality which has had a domi- 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

nant influence on my life. Kirk Armour stood 6 feet, 
perhaps a trifle over; he was built in proportion; a 
massive chest, broad shoulders, a square jaw and 
laughing eyes. His face and hands were bronzed by 
the great outdoors that he loved. Little waves of 
magnetism seemed to radiate from him, even before 
he spoke, and when he spoke a mental arm seemed to 
come up to salute. In that initial interview I became 
aware of qualities in him which I have heard com- 
mented upon hundreds of times ; as, for example, his 
interest in individuals, his love of progress, and his 
doing things worth while. He asked questions so 
rapidly that they could hardly be answered, and be- 
fore I knew It I was hired. I took away with me the 
same impression that everyone took who ever talked 
with him ten minutes: "This man is interested in 
me." It was true of all ; he was interested in them 
and their work; he had suggested something pro- 
gressive. It was his interest In everyone, develop- 
ment, progress, betterment in everything, which 
proved a burden even greater than his Herculean 
strength could carry. It sent him back to Mother 
Earth at the age of 48. I still mourn some of the 
things that he had planned; things which would have 
been great community benefits, often of national 
importance. If his life had been spared. I have often 
felt that he would have become the world's greatest 
merchant. 

Of all the incidents that I can recall which Illus- 

[88] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

trate his gentleness of heart, the one of the great 
packer — "the daily spiller of tons of blood" — and the 
humble rabbit seems best. When we went to the 
Excelsior Springs farm on Saturdays, Watson and 
Lawrence Armour (Kirk's sons, then mere children) 
usually went with us, getting all the sport that boys 
should out of a farm visit. Once, while driving in 
the old spring wagon through the pastures, a young 
cottontail ran out from its nest. The boys were out 
in a minute, and we all joined in the pursuit, sprawl- 
ing about in the grass until it was caught. The boys 
were of course for taking it home for a pet. Mr. 
Armour, holding the frightened little fellow In his 
hand, turned to his farm manager, "Charley" Wirt, 
and asked, "Do rabbits cause much damage?" 
"Charley" said, "Yes; they gnaw the young fruit 
trees, and do lots of damage to the garden." Mr. 
Armour stroked it for a moment, put it down in the 
grass, and, as it scampered off, said, "Well, I 
guess this one will not make much difference." I 
have always loved Bret Harte's poem Luke, and this 
came into my mind — 

"And she looked me right in the eye — I'd seen sunthin' like 

it before 
When I hunted a wounded doe to the edge o' the Clear 

Lake shore, 
And I had my knee on its neck, and I jist was raisin' my 

knife 
When it give me a look like that, and — well, it got off with 

ks life." 

[89] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

Mr. Armour came into the business very young. 
He was put through all the various branches under 
outstanding men who had instructions to give him 
the "third degree"; but they worshipped him, as all 
did, and the proudest boast of every one of these 
men, when Mr. Armour had become the master, was, 
"I taught Kirk that." He spent part of each work 
day in the saddle at the yards, and always looked 
over some part of the plant with the superintendent 
or some department manager, calling by name great 
numbers of men, and stopping to chat with them, 
often about their family affairs. His memory for 
details was remarkable. I have often heard him re- 
mark, as we were discussing something, "You had 
different views some years ago," sometimes quoting 
in detail. I recall, when we were out in the plant, 
making a special investigation at the ham-testing 
table, his saying to the ham-tryer, "George, how is 
the leg of that boy of yours doing?" Some days 
afterwards I was at the same table, and asked George 
about the boy. He replied, "Oh, that was three 
years ago, but Kirk never forgets anything." 

Mr, Armour loved trade. He did not bother us 
much in the winter months on the provision side of 
the house, because it was the dull time, and we were 
all sent out on trade survey trips for an average of 
six weeks; but when things began to open up in the 
spring he was on our backs continuously. It was an 
old saying in the office that a man who did not get 

[90] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

roasted at least once a day never got his salary raised. 
I recall an illustration of his conviction that trade 
would always expand under effort, and had no limit. 
I had been given charge of a product which had only 
a moderate sale, and by taking advantage of some 
favorable natural conditions had an unusual streak 
of luck with it. A card showing the manufacture 
and movement of the product in every class was 
placed on Mr. Armour's desk each morning. A 
glance over it revealed to him the weak spots. In 
glancing at my product card he got the wrong line; 
that is, another product showing, say, 90,000 pounds 
per day, while mine showed 180,000. He strode 
over to my desk, and said, "What's the matter with 
you ? Going into a decline ? We ought to be selling 
100,000 pounds a day." To which I replied, "Hell, 
boss, we are selling 180,000 pounds," but my raise of 
80,000 pounds never touched him, and, without bat- 
ting an eye, he said, "That is not enough; we should 
be selling 250,000 pounds. Shake yourself; you are 
walking in your sleep." 

He always reminded me of a little negro boy who 
told me of thinking that he saw a ghost on his way 
home one night. Describing it in his own language, 
he said: "When I come up on that ghost I lit out 
as hard as I could, and every time my feet hit the 
ground I says to myself, 'Ed, you can do better than 
this.' " 

Mr. Armour was an inspiration to every man under 

[91] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

him. All caught his trade-getting instinct, and took 
all the hurdles. It was fast company. He had that 
most wonderful of all business faculties : the faculty 
of eliminating jealousies and building team-work. 
Behind it all there was a personal love, almost wor- 
ship, and loyalty to the last ditch. In the twelve 
years during which I was under him I never heard 
a single employee criticise him. I meet men all over 
the United States still in the business or in other 
fields, and it is always with reverence that his name 
is mentioned by them. Sometimes a number of us 
have chanced to foregather and exchange recollec- 
tions of the old days. There will be some individual 
anecdote or beautiful memory; a voice will grow 
husky; there will be a halting of speech, a choke, 
and the story goes unfinished. Eyes will fill, some- 
one will brush his cheek or hastily arise to get a 
glass of water; then we talk of other things. But 
out of the grave of it all comes the sweet peace of 
memories, golden threads woven into life's more som- 
ber raiment. 

Some twenty-five years ago an effort was made 
to consolidate the great range industry into a cattle 
trust. I do not recall its exact nature, but Mr. 
Armour stood out at that time as having a broad, 
personal acquaintance with rangemen, and I shall 
always think that no man has been so vital in his 
relation to the improvement of cattle or the exten- 
sion of meat products sales round the world. One 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

afternoon we left the office to drive to Meadow Park 
Farm. Mr. Armour stopped In front of the old Mid- 
land Hotel, and told me to hold the team while he 
went up to a meeting. When he came down he told 
me the nature of the meeting, and added, "They 
offered me a million dollars in stock for the use of 
my name, but I told them that I did not want to 
make a million dollars that way." 

I never knew Mr. Armour to be severe but once. 
I shall not go into the details. Briefly, a man sitting 
in the executive office, in charge of a department, 
stole $45,000, and never handled a dollar. It was 
of course a case of clever outside connivance, and 
one of the things that led up to departmental book- 
keeping. We all knew that the man was living 
beyond his means, but that was accounted for 
cleverly. It was during the days of open gambling; 
there were faro lay-outs everywhere. Often after he 
had got his "divvy" he would show, to enough people 
to get the word about, a wad of big bills, and say, 
"I hit them hard again." An accident led to our 
identifying the thief, but instead of prosecuting him 
Mr. Armour made him handle his desk for six 
months, isolated, despised, a Benedict Arnold, an 
outcast. Once he said to a former intimate friend, 
"I would much rather have gone to the pen for ten 
years." 

Mr. Armour loved horses and the country. A 
byroad In the wood always brought from him, "Let's 

[93] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

see where this goes." The wilder and rougher it was 
the greater his joy. He would stop to listen to a 
brook or pluck some wild flower for his buttonhole. 
No matter what flower it was, wild or cultivated, he 
would always look at it a moment and say, "That 
is the most beautiful flower that grows." Once with 
my wife I was in Chicago on New Year's Day. We 
went out to get what she loved best, a single Amer- 
ican Beauty rose. The florist said that one could 
not be found in town, and asked, "Do you know that 
they are worth $30 to $40 a dozen?" I asked why. 
He said that farmers all over the country had sent 
in so many Christmas and New Year's orders that 
everything was cleaned up at enormous prices. I told 
the story to Mr. Armour. In a flash he said, "Let 
us build greenhouses out at the farm. We go out 
there now and shiver around in the winter looking 
at the cattle, but with a flower business we could 
enjoy the cattle in the summer and the flowers in 
winter." His health, however, was failing fast, and 
I had to find a delay for not going ahead. 

He was a remarkable combination of gentleness, 
aggressiveness and public-spiritedness, with much 
of the far-sightedness of his uncle Philip D., by 
whom he was loved as a son. He was easily Kansas 
City's greatest and most beloved citizen. The mourn- 
ers who stood, tear-stained, as the last words were 
said, "Dust to dust," numbered as many of the lowly 
as of the high, and in their hearts it was pure gold 

[94] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

lying there under the flower-covered mound. One of 
them who had worked with him, and bossed him as 
a boy on the old New York State farm stood at my 
side. I felt his hand grip mine as the others turned 
to go, and heard him say, "Wait." Then, when we 
were alone, he crossed himself as he knelt, and 
sobbed a broken prayer, and I — well, that's all. 



[95] 



CHAPTER XI 

BRAHMIN CATTLE ; CULLING A RANGE HERD 

WE have never used any Brahmin blood, but it 
has a wide use in Texas as far north as the 
Texas & Pacific Railroad. I do not know of any 
Brahmin cattle in the Panhandle or in central-west 
Texas, except steers, brought from south Texas for 
development. Here it may be interesting to record 
that a few years ago a large northwestern steer 
buyer gave instructions to eliminate anything show- 
ing the Brahmin cross, but before he did so some 
had gone through. Several years later, when these 
few had matured, and gone grass-fat to market, he 
changed his instructions, taking everything with the 
Brahmin cross on a par with the general offering, 
because he saw that the samples had made fine 
weights, and were extra fat, nor were they discrimi- 
nated against in the market. 

The history of the Brahmins may be briefly given 
as that of the humped "sacred" cattle of India, im- 
ported by the late "Shanghai" Pierce. The develop- 
ment of their use was made under the direction of 
A. P. Borden on the Pierce estate, near Corpus 
Christ! in Texas. Very few purebreds were brought 
over. The process of amalgamation has been mainly 

[96] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

through ^, % and ^-Brahmin crossed with all the 
beef breeds but with Herefords predominant and 
Shorthorns next. 

The breeding process has been so varied and tech- 
nical that I shall not attempt to dissect it any fur- 
ther than to say that it is a widespread interest in 
southern Texas, and has some of the best breeders 
in the state for its practical champions, with results 
which cannot be ridiculed. My attention was attracted 
to this work by the operations of E. C. Lassater, 
"Al " McFadden, "Tom" East and James Callan, 
all in Texas. The judgment and ability of these men 
as beef producers place them in the top row. All 
that I know about the cross has come from these 
men and from a visit to the McFadden Ranch, where 
I saw many crosses and results, both from a breed- 
ing and beefmaking angle. These to me proved to 
be a revelation. There I met a man who had always 
"cussed" the breed. I asked him why he did so, 
and what were their limitations. I got a knockout 
answer. He said that the Brahmins had no limi- 
tations, from a moneymaking standpoint; and that 
he just naturally hated them, but was going to breed 
them from now on anyhow. In proportion to the 
blood used, they are immune from ticks, flies and 
other insect pests; they will go further for water, 
lie out longer in the sun, when other breeds seek 
shade, live on coarser grass and weeds, get rolling 
fat earlier, and kill out better than our native cattle. 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

A cowpuncher who worked on a ranch as far north 
as Dryden, Tex., where a good deal of the Brahmin- 
Hereford cross obtained, in talking of the early ship- 
ments from that section in the spring of 1920, when 
grass-fat yearling heifers and steers were netting 
from $50 to $6^, told me that the stock carrying 
Brahmin blood was the biggest and fattest, and then 
added, *'We were short of water, but those scoun- 
drels just got up and trotted ten miles for it, and 
got fatter all the time." 

People who have learned how to handle them do 
not have any trouble, but a little thing like a fence 
or a corral does not seem to bother them at all. Mr. 
Lassater asked me to locate a cornbelt feeder who 
would full-feed a load of one-fourth-Brahmin and 
three-fourths-Hereford calves, against a load of S. 
M. S. calves, both lots to be billed at the same price 
but under a protection of $10 per head that the 
Brahmins would net as much money. I found some- 
one, but he only kept them a short time. Even then, 
however, they made him a small profit without the 
$10 protection, which was of course only extended 
for a full-feed. I have always regretted that the 
experiment did not go to a conclusion. I do not 
think that the Brahmins will invade the herds of 
our section and the Panhandle as breeders for some 
time, but I do think that they will keep on, and 
that some day cornbelt feeders will use the best 
crosses extensively in their feedlots. 

[98] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

One distinct peculiarity of these cattle must be 
recorded. The bull will serve the same cow only 
once; he Is very sure and rivals the goat in capacity. 
The quality of the meat, it is said, holds its own 
against that of any of the beef breeds in comparative 
finish. I can vouch for that, as I ate some from a 
good, grass-fat carcass served by Mr, McFadden 
when the executive committee of the Cattle Raisers' 
Association of Texas met at Victoria, in June, 19 19. 
I am told that there is no discrimination In the market 
against Brahmin cattle ; in fact, at Fort Worth, where 
the Brahmin cross is heavily marketed, it finds favor 
because of its good kill. 

While In Florida in 19 17 I found Brahmin bulls 
of strong grade being used on the run-down primi- 
tive cows, with the thought of getting scale, con- 
stitution and the beef instinct. It was the Intention 
of crossing the heifer progeny with the established 
beef breeds. In theory it looks good to me, since 
many of the Florida grasses are coarse, and, as I 
told them in an address, Florida cattlemen should 
try anything and everything, since they can't breed 
down. 

The law of selection must be the natural basis 
for bringing a herd to the highest production and 
quality, but all breeders will agree, I think, that 
individual merit must stand severe rivalry from "the 
get." I remember that in discussing breeding with 
Marcus Daly the matter of "like begets like" came 

[99] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

up. He said, "That may work in cattle, but it makes 
some strange misses in horse breeding." Then he 
fell into a dissertation on maternal influence which 
I wish I could reproduce, because "maternal Influ- 
ence" Is my pet hobby. 

It is Impossible to follow the bull in range breed- 
ing. All we can do is to work largely toward Indi- 
vidual merit. We cut 35 per cent as yearlings, and 
thereafter as often as development suggests. Bulls 
can be bought, but a great cow herd only comes from 
accumulation, persistently culled with "get" as the 
prime factor. I recall that incidental to correspond- 
ence in reference to the Armour Hereford importa- 
tions In the '90's the late W. E. Britten, who selected 
them for us, wrote that a celebrated English breeder 
had a cow named Lady Fickle, which carried one of 
the richest pedigrees In the English herdbook, but 
was not much herself. He added, "But she has the 
blood, can be bought reasonable, and has a good bull 
calf at foot by a good bull." We instructed him to 
send her along. I met the shipment at quarantine, 
and told "Bill" Searle, who brought them over, that 
I wanted to see Lady Fickle first, and he remarked, 
"You will not see much." She was Indeed a terror, 
cat-hammed and flat-ribbed, with sprawling horns 
and a long dished face, but very broad between the 
eyes, and carried what John Gosling called "a brain- 
box." Her calf was fine, and sold for a good price. 
Mr. Armour did not want her around. She sold as 

[100] 



^' ¥ 





cc 



o 



(o 



4 o 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

a cull with another bull calf at foot which developed 
Into an outstanding show bull and sire: On the other 
hand, we bought Beau Real's Maid, one of the out- 
standing show cows of her time, paying $2,200 for 
her. She dropped a heifer calf by a great imported 
bull, brought over by the late Chas. S. Cross. I have 
rarely seen a poorer calf, and it sold at a trash price 
in a general clean-up to go some distance. I was 
never able to follow Its progeny. So there you are : 
two jolts, one on each side. 

We follow both plans on the S. M. S. Ranch, and 
try to save the good Individual with a good get. 
Our culling Is done In the fall, when the cow with a 
calf at foot may be seen, but Invariably we leave 
some cows which we do not like but which produce 
calves in the top row. It is almost uncanny the way 
In which foremen or cowpunchers generally will 
speak of an Individual cow among thousands of cows 
as having had several good or bad calves. Without 
attempting to explain this fact, I have checked against 
It carefully enough to know that they know what 
they are talking about. 

In culling cows, threes and over, we always try 
to work to type. We throw out a cow, no matter 
how good. If she goes too long without having a 
calf, or appears to be a persistent misser — another 
class which the men spot. 

Nourishment Is watched carefully. Poor "doers" 
in the winter are thrown Into a small pasture in the 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

spring, as are many other classes, subject to a second 
look-over In the fall for cows with one eye, spoiled 
bags or other physical defects. Age of course Is a 
factor to which we give careful attention, but It does 
not eliminate a cow If she is a "doer" and a "re- 
peater" with no definite Hmlt. A really Ill-looking 
cow Is rarely kept. A rather old cow with an out- 
standing calf Is apt to be given another year as 
against one of the same age with even an average 
calf. 

I was asked once where I placed "get" in the cull- 
ing problem. I replied first, because it Is the final 
test In realization. We rarely cull anything In the 
calf period except distinct ne'er-do-wells. All calves 
from two-year-old heifers go out, as it Is impossi- 
ble to avoid having some yearling heifers get In 
calf, and all calves at foot with culled cows not old 
enough to winter go. An average term of years 
will find about 5 per cent of the total drop going as 
veal for these causes. 

The main cut in the breeding herd Is made In the 
fall, In the yearling heifer class. It is about 10 per 
cent. This is followed in the two-year-old period by 
cutting anything missed as a yearling or not making 
proper development, which brings the herd up to the 
three-year-old or over class, when they take pot luck 
in an annual cull, running rarely less than 7 nor 
more than 10 per cent. In steers the cut, running 
through from calves to yearlings, will average about 

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lO per cent, leaning toward 12 per cent, but varying 
to some extent with the season, and veal shipments 
not considered. 

The methods of different ranchmen will naturally 
vary, and the remarks that I have made are only 
intended to cover our own methods, which will apply, 
with small variations, to the general Texas industry, 
with this exception: southern Texas frequently has 
all classes fat early in the spring, when there is no 
rule except the protection of maintenance by holding 
back such top she-stuff as is needed, and marketing 
the classes returning the best results. The year 1920 
has shown the fattest cattle from southern Texas 
in years. A good clearance has been made, including 
heavy hold-overs from 19 19. 



[103] 



CHAPTER XII 

SOME WESTERN CHARACTERS 

ORN in the historic old town of Leavenworth, 
Kans., in i860, I have vague memories of what 
I now know as the Civil War, which, to a child's 
mind, meant only hanging over the gate to watch 
soldiers march by or fill canteens at our well, to 
hear the bugle call, or the hushed voice of my mother 
and her friends as they speculated on the fortunes of 
war and the threatened "Price's raid," or, as Bret 
Harte puts it in Miss Blanche Says — 

"Still it was stupid: Rat-a-tat-tat! Those were the sounds 

of a batde summer, 
Till the earth seemed a parchment round and flat, 
And every footfall the tap of a drummer." 

Kansas was abolition; Missouri, just across the 
Missouri River, was Confederate and largely guer- 
rilla. Col. Jennison's celebrated abolition cavalry 
regiment was stationed at Fort Leavenworth. His 
men were "wildcats," every one a picked horseman 
and consummate daredevil. It was said of that regi- 
ment that its men were on the guerrilla order and 
especially careless about the title of a horse; in fact, 
the usual pedigree of a horse was "by Jennison out of 

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Missouri." Years afterward, as "Dan Qulnn's old 
cattlemen" put it, the colonel reformed and started a 
saloon, with a faro bank attachment. His place be- 
came a famous resort for old-timers, and as it was 
more respectable in those days than now to drop into 
such places, I often listened with mouth agape to 
stories and reminiscences which would make a won- 
derful history of the part "bleeding Kansas" played 
in the Civil War, and the gateway to the west, which 
Leavenworth formed for the years following. 

Majors Russell and Waddell, with their hundreds 
of ox teams and wagon trains transported overland 
freight to all parts of the west. Scouts, guides, hunt- 
ers, trappers, desperadoes and a great stream of for- 
tune-seekers to the great unknown poured through 
the gateway. Buffalo hunters marketed their hides, 
which filled great warehouses. My grandfather shot 
a wild turkey on our back fence. "Kit" Carson, 
"Wild Bill" and "Buffalo Bill" (Col. Wm. F. Cody) 
were as familiar figures on the streets as ordinary 
citizens. The Missouri River was another trail to 
the great west, and was alive with fine boats carry- 
ing their burden of human and commercial freight 
to Fort Benton, Mont., the head of navigation, and 
from that point freight was scattered by bull teams 
over Montana and Utah. 

Durfee & Peck, Indian traders, with frontier posts, 
had their headquarters at Leavenworth. I still have 
some of the trade brass money which they Issued 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

for furs, and only the other day in Chicago, as I 
looked into a Michigan Avenue shop window, I ven- 
tured to ask the price of a wonderful mink garment. 
My mind harkened back to the absurd price at which 
the skins could be bought in the early days. John 
Bowles, at the Chicago stockyards, wore a beaver 
coat for which some friend had paid $1,500 and 
loaned him to wear while he auctioned off John 
Hubly's grand champion load of Aberdeen-Angus 
steers at the 19 19 International show. "Tom" Todd, 
Fort Benton, Mont., showed me a coat forty years 
ago made from selected Saskatchewan beaverskins 
which cost him, including the making, $58. I slept 
out in the snow between Great Falls and Belt, Mont, 
in a bewildering storm thirty years ago wrapped up 
in a beaver coat, which the driver offered to sell 
me the next day for $90. Still, look where sugar 
has gone in two years ! Perhaps furs are still cheap ! 
"Buffalo Bill" was born in Salt Creek Valley, 5 
miles from Leavenworth. Romance has made him 
almost everything that the west, in its wildest woolli- 
ness, is capable of; but as a matter of fact his real 
business was that of supplying the Union Pacific 
Railroad building crews and camps with meat, which 
was mainly buffalo, and from which he took the 
name known all over America and Europe. Nat- 
urally this pursuit gave him endless adventures. I 
think I have said before that I never look up nota- 
bles, but when "Buffalo Bill" came to Stamford with 

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a circus some time before the illness which resulted 
in his death, my boy, who had heard me talk of Mr. 
Cody's early life, and had read numerous stories 
about him, asked me to take a Httle bunch of boys 
to call on him after the afternoon show. 

I introduced myself from the Leavenworth stand- 
point. Col. Cody exclaimed, "Why, I know your 
father well ! I bought guns and ammunition from 
him ; he used to sell the old Dupont powder." Then 
he had us all come into the wonderful shelter tent 
kept for him between performances. The boys will 
never forget that visit, and Col. Cody's kindly chat 
with them. The hand that shook "Buffalo Bill's" Is 
still a tradition in Stamford. I sought to go when 
the boys went, but the colonel detained me for an 
hour or so, asking about all the old friends whom he 
had known In the early days, many of them dead, 
and as those who had gone beyond were mentioned 
a shadow of sadness would flit across his face, fol- 
lowed perhaps by some story of such men as Levi 
Wilson, Len Smith, Capt. Tough and Alexander 
Caldwell — men of force and personality In the '50's 
and '6o's. 

Col. Cody then made me tell him all I knew of 
the Texas cattle industry, and in turn he told me 
about his own ranch near Cody, Wyo., adding, "You 
know I have been over this wonderful west until it 
is just like going from one room in your own home 
to another, and when I had seen It all I picked out 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

the one outstanding spot. I believe it is the best 
ranch property in America." 

We talked of the "Leavenworth man," and the 
bunch that scattered when the railroads came, and 
moved on, with frontier restlessness, and then he 
told me a remarkable thing: that while his wild west 
show was in Paris during the exposition he made 
it a habit to try to locate a "Leavenworth man," and 
have him ride in the stage during the fight between 
the cowboys and Indians. He said that it was re- 
markable how often he found the man. When at 
last he let me go he said, "Well, this has been a won- 
derful hour through you, living again with my friends 
in those happy times. God, but they were happy, 
happy times ! Look me up any time you can. I am 
hungry for more of the long ago." 

I recall one striking thing that he said when, inad- 
vertently, in speaking of the value of a buffalo's hide 
at the time of our chat, and of the slaughter for their 
hides, he said: "People have the idea that I was a 
crack shot, and used that talent to kill for the hide, 
I never killed except for food, when the hide fol- 
lowed as an auxiliary perquisite. I never have had 
any patience with the vandals of the plains." 

"Buffalo Bill" was not a "bad man," but in the 
early days he was sometimes confused with "Wild 
Bill," who was on that order. He was just a hunter, 
scout and guide, who in after life was clever enough 
to turn his remarkably picturesque figure, personahty 

[io8] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

and talents into a fortune, which he did not know 
how to keep, but in the making of which he has left 
in the hearts of two continents the romance of the 
prairies, now rapidly dying under the advance of the 
hoe. Col. Cody had a heart as big as the story his 
great wild west told. History will record him as its 
most picturesque frontier type. Steeped as I am in 
the love of the frontier, I read The Literary Digest's 
compilation of American press tributes to Col. Cody 
after his death with the feeling that they were strew- 
ing flowers on something of my own — the wonderful 
west. 

Capt. W. S. Tough was one of the outstanding — 
I might almost say romantic — characters of those 
stirring times, sijice the story of his life would make 
fiction tame. He stood over six feet, built in propor- 
tion, a born horseman, and a dead shot. He was 
in the secret service of the Government during the 
Civil War and a United States Marshal immediately 
following, when the reaction from war and the great 
flow westward brought him into action with outlaws 
and bad men generally. He became one of the fa- 
mous peace officers of the border through his cool, 
picturesque courage. I saw much of him as a boy 
on his breeding farm next to my father's, and later 
(in 1880) in Denver, where he owned a horse sale 
barn, making a specialty of single and team road- 
sters, much in demand at that time. I was lonely, 
and he invited me to spend my spare time exercising 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

his horses on the Denver speedway, under instruc- 
tions not to let anything pass me. He had a genius 
for mating teams with striking effects, producing 
matched, mismatched, showy gaits and nobby turn- 
outs. All his drivers dressed the part. When he 
drove himself — and he often drove — it was worth 
going to see. He was the best driver I have ever 
known. Often when we spent the evening in his 
office, he would grow reminiscent. I recall two of his 
stories which may be of interest. 

During the war he was on secret service on some 
important mission in Missouri, near Bee Creek. He 
was captured by a band of guerrillas. It was nearly 
dusk when they reached camp. He was turned over 
to a drumhead court-martial. The trial lasted a few 
minutes; the verdict was "Spy; penalty, death." 
Turning to him, the leader said, "Yank, would you 
rather be shot before or after supper?" To which 
the captain replied, "I always did think a lot of my 
belly," adding, "Say, 'Reb,' that dun boss of yours 
is the best I ever saw. Suppose you make it sunrise; 
I'd like to die looking at him." "All right," said the 
"Reb"; "come eat." At supper the talk drifted onto 
horses, and the quality of the Missouri horse, then, 
as now, their pride. "Reb," said the captain, "if 
you ever miss that dun boss you can just figure my 
spirit has got astride and gone with him." 

They tied the captain to a log, with the "Reb" 
on guard; the fire burned down to the faint glimmer 

[no] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

of coals through ashes, and he fell asleep, awakening 
to find his hands and feet free and the sentry nodding 
over the smoldering fire. He crawled behind a bush, 
took off his shoes, carrying them in his hand, and 
made his get-away. Ten minutes later a shot rang 
out in the woods, followed shortly by more shots. 
When morning came he hid for the day. The next 
morning found him at the Missouri River, which he 
swam to the Kansas side. After the war the captain 
hunted up the "Reb," gave him a mighty good horse 
and big boot for the dun. "Yank," said "Reb," 
"that boss talk of yours did the work; I thought it 
was a damned shame to shoot a lad who loved a boss 
like you did, and, after all, you was only doing your 
duty." As he ended his story, the captain said: 
"They call me 'nutty' about a horse, but every time 
I look at my wife and babies I think, after all, a 
boss gave them to me, and, next to them, a boss comes 
first." 

While commanding a band of cavalry scouts — nat- 
urally all picked horsemen, and crack shots — they 
took dinner, paying for it, at the house of a woman 
whose husband was in the Confederate army. The 
captain had given his men strict orders not to for- 
age, except in cases of extreme necessity. A mag- 
nificent mare of the distinct Missouri saddle-horse 
type, and about six years old, was grazing in a 
small paddock near the house. The captain and all 
the men admired her, and "Scotty," a young dare- 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

devil and sharpshooter, tried to make a trade for 
her; but the captain told them all, "Hands off." 
They camped for the night some 20 miles away. 
Shortly after daylight, "Scotty" rode in on the mare. 
As their eyes met he said, "Well, Cap, I left a 
damned good hoss for her, and she's contraband, 
anyway." "Scotty," the captain said, "my orders arc 
not contraband; get your breakfast, and ride back. 
We will wait for you here; and, Bill, you go back 
with him." 

"Scotty" replied, "I'll be damned if I do." 
"All right," said the captain. "One of us has got 
to be boss, and we can't be that with the other around. 
'Ride to the other edge of this clearing, turn and I 
will ride towards you; shoot whenever you get ready. 
I will do the same. You are at least as good as I 
am on the trigger." 

"Scotty" sat for a minute in deep thought, and 
then, with a smile, said, "O hell. Cap, there ain't 
no doubt about who's boss here. I only traded for 
this mare to keep you from getting her after the 
war. So long; catch up with you by noon. I'll get 
one good ride out of her." Then a bright thought 
striking him, he added, "Say, Cap, you ride her 
back; maybe you can make an after-war trade for 
her." His story ended, the captain was silent for a 
moment, and then broke out into a hearty laugh. 
" 'Scotty' was right; you have heard or known of 
the good ones I bought and sold for twenty years 

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after the war. Well, I spotted them or their dams 
and sires during the war, and what Jennison didn't 
get during the war I tried to get afterwards." 

Another story may be added because it falls so 
aptly in Missouri. During President Cleveland's 
first campaign I was sent over to Platte City, Mo., 
with several others to organize a regiment of cavalry 
to participate in a big night rally, and parade in Leav- 
enworth. Those were the days of the Flambeau 
Clubs. All the "pep" has gone out of parades since 
the use of fireworks has been prohibited. We had 
three of them in line, a total of 200 expert Flambeau 
men whirling pin wheels, and putting up rockets or 
Roman candles as they marched. Nothing that I 
have ever seen compares with that sort of display. 

We chose a day when Gov. Thomas T. Critten- 
den was billed to speak. Jesse James had been killed 
by "Bob" Ford under a contract with Gov. Critten- 
den. The James boys had worlds of friends in Platte 
county. Gov. Crittenden had been warned that he 
could not speak at Platte City without being killed. 
They were all there, and I asked the Governor to 
give me a minute, before he spoke, to announce our 
cavalry regiment, which, by the way, came 500 strong, 
on probably as grand a bunch of horses of that 
number as ever formed a regiment. When the Gov- 
ernor rose to speak there was a tense silence; not a 
single hand clapped; the dropping of a pin could 
have been heard. He was calm and cool, as though 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

shaking hands with a friend. Those who knew him 
will remember his splendid presence, his wonderful 
snow-white hair, his square jaw and his well-modu- 
lated voice. For a moment he stood silent, his eyes 
roving over the entire audience. Everyone seemed 
to be holding his breath, and then the Governor 
began : 

"Fellow citizens of Missouri: I am your Gov- 
ernor. I am pledged to enforce your laws. I have 
been warned that if I touch here today the subject 
of the James Boys and the killing of Jesse James 
I will pay for it with my life. I am here to talk 
to you on that subject, to tell you the whole story, 
and my final attitude, and then drift to national and 
state issues. Bandit-ridden Missouri, your Missouri, 
is the scorn of America. Your laws charge me with 
responsibility. I am the guardian of Jesse James' 
wife and children, and I intend to keep that trust to 
the last ditch; but I did put a price on Jesse James' 
head; I will put a price on the head of every bandit 
and outlaw in Missouri, dead or alive, so long as I 
am your Governor. I stand for law and order, and 
I will follow relentlessly all violators until the fair 
name of bandit-ridden Missouri is back where you 
can stand in any company, and say, 'My Missouri,' 
without a blush, and if I did not have the moral 
courage to come to you and tell you so I would not 
be fit to be your Governor." 

Then he paused. Again an awful stillness ensued; 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

it seemed to burn and hurt. Then, as though shot 
from the mouth of a hidden cannon, the people rose 
to him en masse, and cheered him to the echo. A 
great, tall, grizzly-headed man, sitting In the front 
row, walked up on the platform and took the Gov- 
ernor by the hand, waving for silence with the other. 
Like the shutting off of an electric current, it was 
again still. The old man said: "By God, boys, we've 
got a Governor. Let's stay with him." Bedlam 
thereupon broke loose. 

Then followed the regular speech, but probably the 
shortest the Governor ever made — the once-over on 
national issues and an appeal to send a real Platte 
county regiment to the rally. That first few min- 
utes in its dramatic tenseness had made everyone 
weak, and the good old applejack, for which Platte 
county was (and perhaps still Is) famous, seemed 
a beautiful refuge. I know it was. 



[115] 



CHAPTER XIII 

SOME COWBOY CHARx^CTERISTICS 

I SHALL write of cowboys as I found them In the 
spring of 1902, when I came to the S.M.S. Ranch 
in Texas. There were whole outfits of trained, sea- 
soned men, almost born in the saddle. This situa- 
tion obtained pretty well up to the war, when volun- 
tary enlistment and the draft took the cream of cow- 
boy material, leaving only the foremen and straw 
bosses (second in command) to train the material 
that ranchmen could find. Since then we have robbed 
the cradle and old men's homes with an ever-shifting 
outfit, built up round a few old-timers. Yet it has 
been wonderful how ranchmen have got along. It is 
explained by the fact that the really skilled old-timers 
are beyond the age for new ventures, can still handle 
the technical work, and have infinite patience with 
raw material. 

After the war many of the cowpunchers came 
back, but were restless; then a matrimonial epidemic 
swept most of them into wanting camp jobs, and 
there were not enough to go round. A working out- 
fit must, in the main, be unmarried; otherwise it is 
"busted" half the time by normal and legitimate de- 
mands to call the boys home. Do not let these com- 

[116] 







CO 




(A 

> 

Ui 



►sse 



e5 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

ments bring an avalanche of applications from agri- 
cultural schools or lads generally wishing to learn the 
cow business. I shall not in this sketch elaborate the 
reason why we must draw from local men who have 
lived in the atmosphere through boyhood. There is 
of course a reason. 

There Is beginning to be a swing back from the 
oilfields, the harvest fields and town jobs. Only a 
few days ago a well-dressed city-complexioned young 
man came into our office and applied for a "riding 
job," meaning in the cow outfit, as a fence or pas- 
ture rider, as opposed to farm work. I said to him : 
"Pardon me, but you don't look the part. What 
experience have you had?" Then he told me that 
he had been hurt by a falling horse about a year 
ago, and been working "inside" until his leg got 
well. I told him that we did not pay "Inside wages," 
but he got his keep. "I know that all right," he 
said, "but when I get through paying board and room 
rent, buying cold drinks, good clothes and taking the 
girls to the picture shows, wearing a clean shirt every 
day, getting a bath and 'dolled up' at the barber shop, 
and paying for the gas when a friend takes me for a 
joy ride, me and the world is several bucks apart at 
the end of the week, and feeling like hell, too; but 
I can save money, eat good grub, ride good bosses, 
shave myself, get one of the boys to cut my hair, and 
take a runnin' jump into the creek or tank from the 
brandin' pen; look up at the stars as I fall asleep 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

out there on the ranch, and I'll stay hired a long time 
if I get a chance." He got it. 

After all, he had it right: it is what you have at 
the end of the month. Perhaps the reaction in favor 
of farm and ranch may come through that channel; 
there can be no question about the health end. 

Cowboys are ultra-sensitive, diffident and supersti- 
tious about anything that they do not understand. 
I do not mean the supernatural; I mean things out 
of their own groove. They possess a quality that is 
not necessarily courage, but rather the absence of 
fear. They are not the lawless, gun-toting element 
of the movies, or the long-ago frontier. They are 
law-abiding, good, hard-working citizens, with a 
greater respect for the chastity of a good woman 
than any other class of men in America. I have 
studied them for twenty years. I have asked hun- 
dreds of cowmen and cowboys if they knew of a 
single case of seduction, and have yet to hear of one. 
I saw a line in one of the films recently disclosing 
that some easterner had followed a girl whom he 
was In love with to a ranch, where she was visiting. 
Finding his case hopeless, he began to shine up to a 
country girl. The girl whom he had followed had 
caught the spirit of the country. She said to him : 
"Ned, the things men do where we came from and 
are dismissed as wild oats, they kill for out here." 
A country mother once said to me: "I would rather 
trust my girl with one of these boys any distance alone 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

in a car or buggy than have her go three blocks alone 
In a city." 

When I take a bunch of cowboys with me to a 
hotel or cafe, where the service is "classy," I do not 
think of asking them what they will have, but look 
over the bill of fare, and pick out what I think that 
they like, ordering it for myself, and then, turning 
to them, ask, "What will you boys have?" "Same 
for me." They will go back home and laugh about 
the mistakes they made using the wrong silver, and 
drinking out of finger bowls, but if one of them were 
conscious of attracting attention he would die of 
mortification. 

As to superstition, an incident occurred in my first 
year which will best illustrate it. We had carried 
over some cattle, and had an unusual number to de- 
liver, trailing them mainly to the Tongue River 
Ranch, lOO miles distant, and thence 60 miles to 
Estelline. I was in the field constantly, and often 
stayed with the outfits weeks at a time. I had said 
to them when I came, "Boys, I am soft, and I do 
not know much about this big pasture game, but I 
do know something about breeding and selling. Take 
me on faith until I make good, and let's do team- 
work. Some day I will ride as fast and as far as 
any of you." It was a go, but they couldn't help 
having their fun. I got some pretty rough-gaited 
horses and on the round was often sent with some 
crazy rider. After an especially hard ride over rough 

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country one morning, with an especially crazy rider, 
I decided to stay at the chuck wagon, instead of 
going on the afternoon round. 

That evening after supper, around the campfire, 
the chuck wagon "josh" commenced. There is noth- 
ing funnier or sharper. I came in for the brunt of 
it. Finally I said: "Boys, I told you I had lots to 
learn about this riding game, but there are some 
things I learned before I came down here. I am a 
trained athlete (those who know my stature will be 
amused). I will wrestle any one of you, catch-as- 
catch-can, for $50. Now that does not mean to stand 
up and take hold, but run in, catch by the head, or 
leg, or any way. It is all sleight or trick work, and 
that is where the little man may put it over the big 
one — the comparatively weak man over the strong 
one, just as the 'Japs,' trained in jiu-jutsu, can handle 
several men not trained in strangle holds, armi twists 
and stomach jams. So in catch-as-catch-can the man 
with the sleight may hurt someone who does not 
know it, and I want that understood." 

I had been taught a few tricks, and, reaching over, 
caught a big fellow quickly by the back of his neck, 
jerking it down, and almost unbalancing him, while 
the others laughed. The "bluff" went; they had 
never heard of catch-as-catch-can, and were all skilled 
in the sleight of throwing a calf well enough to know 
that some of the smaller men could beat the big ones. 
They looked foohsh; then one said, "You try him." 

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I saw I had them going, and remarked, "Pool your 
money, and pick your man," but it was the unknown, 
the "sleight," and we wound up by putting It off, but 
they quit "joshing" my riding. 

Some months later an inspector whom I had got 
to know and love asked me, "Where In the hell did 
you get to be such a wrestler?" I had really forgot 
all about It, and asked, "Why?" Then he told me 
that my boys were offering to bet the other outfits 
that I could throw any man they would put up catch- 
as-catch-can, or, as they put It, "You got to wrassel 
his way; It's all sleight and If anybudy gets hurt he 
has to grin it out." 

I never had to wrestle, but some years afterwards 
I ran a footrace with a lad, who was just a kid "boss 
wrangler" at the time of my "bluff," and he beat me. 
Thereupon, throwing his hat down, he said: "Now, 
damn your soul, I'll jes wrassel you catch-as-catch- 
can." I told him that he had been off somewhere 
taking lessons, and I did not want to hurt a good 
man, anyway, because they were getting too scarce. 
To which he replied, "Say, I believe you've been 
runnin' a sandy all the time." I said, "O. K., kid, 
but keep It dark." 

I have said that cowboys are diffident and unemo- 
tional; that Is, on the surface. You can do things for 
them, and while scrupulously polite in the etiquette 
of the range they may not even say "thank you"; 
but they never forget. Under that nonchalant ex- 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

terior there is a heart of gold ; a tenderness and re- 
sponse to every human touch. The cowboy is indeed 
a child of nature, and all its great emotions are in his 
soul. I had this all come to me in the saddest experi- 
ence of my life when one of our boys was killed 
while we were sorting cattle in the feed-pens at Stam- 
ford. He was riding his night horse Curlew. A 
night horse is always the gentlest in a man's mount, 
but any ranch-bred Texas horse will go out of his 
head when anything goes wrong, often some very 
little thing. 

I remember riding this same horse on an all-day 
50-mile jaunt over the Tongue River Ranch with 
Henry Bonner of Indiana. The day was very warm. 
I took my handkerchief out to put round my neck, 
and gave it a flip. Curlew went into the air, and for 
a minute jolted me pretty hard, and made me pull 
leather. I said to the foreman, "What's wrong with 
this horse?" He replied, "I guess he never saw a 
white handkerchief before.'* 

"Johnnie" was sitting on Curlew, and several other 
boys were on their horses, waiting for instructions. 
I think that Curlew must have fallen asleep. The 
foreman rode up and said, "Come on, boys." Johnnie 
was one of our best riders; he was always "cow- 
boying." Reaching over he gave Curlew a slap on 
the neck. The horse must have jumped in the op- 
posite direction. Johnnie was unbalanced and fell, 
his foot catching in the stirrup. The horse then 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

frightened, made several plunges, striking Johnnie 
in the head with his hoof. The boy's imprisoned 
foot came clear, and in a few minutes Johnnie came 
to, and seemed quite himself; but I sent him to camp 
near by with one of the men, who soon sent back 
word that Johnnie was acting queer. I sent a man 
"riding for the doctor." That means riding. All 
work was called off. We gave first aid, but it was 
evident that a blood clot had formed. We put in a 
long-distance call for the Pitch Fork Ranch, 80 miles 
away; it sent a rider to the boy's father and mother 
20 miles away. It was then 3 o'clock in the after- 
noon ; relay teams were arranged along the line. 

I knew the frontier dread of the knife. The doc- 
tor told us that there was just one chance : trepanning 
the skull. I called a council of the boys, and said, 
"Now if he were mine I would take the chance; but 
I know how men on the frontier have seen their 
comrades lie for days and weeks unconscious, and 
get well, their rugged constitutions finally absorbing 
blood clots, and they have seen death follow heroic 
surgery. Dick (his father) should call us from As- 
permont (40 miles away) by 2 o'clock in the morn- 
ing. Shall we wait?" There was no answer; then 
I polled them one by one. "Wait" was the unani- 
mous verdict. 

At 2 :30 a. m. Dick called. I told him just what 
I had told them. Poor Dick! The agony in that 
calm, restrained voice — "Wait till mama and me 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

come, Frank. I've seen so many of 'em in my fifty 
years lay and lay and come through. Wait." 

I went over to my house across the street for a 
short rest. The boys had followed me about like 
children; they would squat on their heels along the 
hall while I was in the sickroom, and when I came 
out there was that mute appeal, with never a word, 
but just the anguish of soul, crying for a word, a 
look of hope. I told "Mage" to call me if there was 
any change, and asked the doctor not to leave the 
room. 

I was just sinking into the sleep of exhaustion 
when I heard Mage knock on the open window, and 
heard him say, "Frank, come! Johnnie is about to 
go." Then we all gathered about the bedside, a band 
of stoics, not a tear from hearts bursting with grief, 
and Johnnie passed into the Great Beyond. Gentle 
women were there to meet the father and mother 
when they came, two hours later, and the boys, stand- 
ing their silent guard of honor, moved out into the 
hall, leaving them alone with their dead. 

We arranged for starting back with the remains 
on the following day, but along towards evening rain 
began to fall. There were two sand rivers to cross 
which were swollen torrents under a head rise, and 
it might come down by morning. So it was decided 
to start at once. Night was falling; there was no 
time for a service, but the mother said, "I want my 
boy to have a prayer"; and I lifted up my voice to 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

thank God for the refuge that He gives to all in the 
great range of love and peace. Then, with Johnnie's 
riderless horse, saddled and bridled, with a slicker- 
clad, slouched-hat guard of honor in front, behind 
and on each side of the spring wagon, which held all 
that was mortal, a weird and solemn procession 
moved out into the slow drizzle, and gathering dark- 
ness, on its 1 00-mile journey to the little spot on 
the hill where the first sunbeams kiss the morning 
dew, and the flickering shadows of dusk linger long- 
est. There Johnnie dreams in the eternal sleep — 

"Where the little grey hawk hangs aloof in the air, 

And the sly coyote glides here and there; 

Where the summer rains and the winter snows, 

Where the wild flowers bloom and the Bob White goes." 



[125] 



CHAPTER XIV 

CATTLE WEIGHT COMPARISONS; TICKS 

I AM asked to make a comparison of the weights 
of the Longhorn and his more modern brother, 
raised under improved breeding. This is a task 
which I fear can not be satisfactorily performed; 
first, because the comparative ages of marketing 
varies too widely, and, second, because the data of 
early-day weights are meager. I have found in my 
reading only one definite reference to weights (this 
was in about 1870), and that was unaccompanied 
by any data as to age or sex. It recorded a drove of 
1,200 head, original Longhorns, cut from 3,700 
head, and showing at the market 1,125 pounds. The 
probability is that they were steers, and cut for 
weights and from general data they were presumably 
from four to six years old. I could perhaps get data 
from some old-timers, but they are scarce, and would 
require to work largely from memory. I shall there- 
fore work from another angle. 

In my own memory the ages at which cattle are 
marketed have shown drastic changes. When the 
International live Stock Exposition in Chicago be- 
gan twenty years ago, three-year-old steers were in 
the favored class; export buyers were taking what 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

are known now as "heavies." Then twos were the 
next step towards youth in the favored class, and 
finally yearlings. I have never worked in the Chi- 
cago yards, but venture to say that cattle from the 
northwest developing ranges have in the meantime 
shown a material drift in age. When I came to 
Texas twenty years ago there were many threes ; now, 
under normal conditions, they are rare, except in the 
extreme Panhandle, which has become more of a 
developing than a breeding country. A well-posted 
stockyards commission man once threw a bombshell 
into my camp of theories by saying that improved 
breeding was being done at the expense of weight, 
citing a well-known brand with which he was espe- 
cially familiar; but in going into the matter deeper 
I was convinced that the marketing age had been 
reduced, and that a year's keep cut some figure. I 
do not mean to say that he opposed improved breed- 
ing; his point was that the price must be greater to 
offset the loss in weight. I followed the matter fur- 
ther into the question of what percentage of increase 
in choice cuts resulted, with satisfactory testimony 
that it was material. My final conclusion was that 
improved breeding results in materially earlier ma- 
turity, and a saving of from one to two years' keep. 
I have never been convinced that actual losses in 
weight, year against year, have been against the im- 
proved animal. 

An illustration of much interest came under my 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

own observation. The Spur Syndicate trailed 
through our Tongue River Ranch on the way to 
Estelline. Its cattle were among the first in the state 
materially to be bred up. When I came to Texas 
one of the Spur steers had "outlawed" in our pasture 
several years before. He was thrown into every 
Spur herd which passed through for several years; 
but he was a professional outlaw, and was back on 
his range near the T-41 Windmill in our pasture in a 
day or so. He must have been a two or three, when 
he first located on us, and was still there five years 
after I came. He looked like an elephant beside the 
other cattle. Finally I had him thrown into one of 
our own herds, got him to Estelline, and shipped him 
for the Spur account. 

As I recall it Fred Hosbrough told me that he 
weighed between 1,800 and 1,900 pounds, off grass; 
at any rate, he was very heavy. At another time I 
sent one of Burk Burnett's stray steers in. I think 
that he was a five-year-old; he showed a very heavy 
weight. I have talked with a number of rangemen 
who have had similar experiences, bringing up the 
matter of comparative weights, and In every instance 
they have shared my conviction that improved Texas 
cattle of today, age for age, will put the primitive 
cattle to sleep In weight. My own observations are 
purely from Texas experiences. A better compari- 
son would be the cattle shipped from the northwest 
ranges to the Chicago market, which has absorbed 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

the supply for forty years or more. I should like to 
see The Breeder's Gazette put "Jim" Poole on this 
job, to dig out data from the memories and records 
of old-timers in the Chicago yards, still in the trade. 
It must be remembered, however, that In the early 
days of the Great Northern Railroad the late James 
J. Hill spent a great deal of money putting out Aber- 
deen-Angus bulls along that line, and quite a bit of 
breeding was done in Montana. The Aberdeen- 
Angus bulls were crossed on cows probably pretty 
well graded. The comparison should probably be 
made against Longhorns taken to the northwest In 
the '8o's and cattle In recent years, with cattle in both 
instances fat. 

The foregoing has been written more with a view 
to "starting something" and bringing out Informa- 
tion from all sources than to claim any merit for 
my own observations. The topic should be thor- 
oughly discussed by rangemen and cornbelt cattle 
feeders and breeders. 

It Is quite a jump from weights to ticks, and yet 
the extended work of the Federal Bureau of Animal 
Industry must have had a great Influence on weights 
when the drain of tick vampires on the early cattle 
Is considered. I am sure that Immunity from ticks 
within a few weeks after trail droves started north 
had much to do with their weights In Montana. I 
have often heard old trail drivers speak of starting 
with droves of thin cattle, taking them from south 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

Texas by easy stages to Montana, and arriving fat. 
They were naturally free from ticks in a few weeks. 
When I came to Texas, Chicago had established a 
free season, when cattle from below the line were 
admitted to the regular yards, without prejudice, as 
the result of definite knowledge that ticks dropped 
from November on would succumb to northern win- 
ters. The same practice applied to many northern 
states, which admitted them in the open season with- 
out inspection. 

I have followed the quarantine map carefully dur- 
ing the past twenty years, the last ten of which have 
shown amazing changes. For five years after 1902 
we had ticks in the S. M. S. Throckmorton pasture; 
but we dipped and cleaned it several years before 
the pastures across the road were clean. We drove 
our calves to Stamford every fall, dipping them for 
exposure, as they had to pass through infested terri- 
tory. We did not lose a calf from infection, and 
only a limited number from dipping — not twenty 
head, all told, out of thousands dipped, and most of 
those few got turned around in the vat and drowned. 
Crude oil was the only dip that we ever shied at; 
other dips apparently were an actual benefit, while 
crude oil seemed to close up the pores in the hides. 

Robert Kleberg, manager of the King Ranch, was 
first among Texas cowmen to tie onto the tick theory, 
and his constructive work in the early period brought 
benefits which can never be estimated. For years it 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

was a moot question in the Texas legislature, which 
has in recent years got behind the work of eradica- 
tion with both feet, cooperating with the Bureau of 
Animal Industry splendidly, both by precept and ap- 
propriation. There was from the earliest discussion 
one argument which never failed. Get a man who 
rejected the tick theory to bring cattle into infested 
territory, which had never been exposed to ticks. The 
result was always the same, with this one exception : 
a fever-tick which found a horse for host dropped 
and laid its eggs, and the progeny hatched did not 
carry the fever germ. Some pastures as far north as 
King and Motley counties became infested by ticks 
dropped from horses, and there was no bovine mor- 
tality until they got onto cows brought from below 
the line but clean when brought in. From such cows 
the tick again took on her malignant nature, and her 
progeny would cause fever. In these northern coun- 
ties, however, ticks rarely carried over, on account 
of the cold, but a story made up of scares would 
make a book, and I had my share of them. 

The quarantine line now, according to a Federal 
bureau map (Dec. i, 19 18), is 90 miles south of 
Stamford and the same east, with no unclean terri- 
tory north, and due to the work of the past two years 
the line is much further south. In five years, with 
proper local and state cooperation, the fever tick 
could easily be cleaned out in America. I feel rea- 
sonably sure that it will be in ten years, or, if not, 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

then at least limited to portions of Florida. That 
state, however, is getting a move on Itself, and if the 
fencing of open range there is rapid enough, it can 
clean up easier than Texas. Some wonderful work 
has been done In Florida by progressive Individuals, 
and the state has passed laws In which there has been 
some confusion in interpretation. 

The United States Department of Agriculture in 
Washington, D. C, has issued a number of compre- 
hensive pamphlets on ticks and tick eradication. 
From these publications a few extracts, condensed 
and unquoted, and some observations and data from 
Chief Dr. John R. Mohler of the Bureau of Animal 
Industry, and from Geo. M. Rommel, chief of the 
Division of Animal Husbandry, may prove valuable 
to those Interested. 

Texas fever was introduced into the United States 
with Importations by Spaniards during the early 
colonization of Mexico and southern United States. 
It seems to have been first discovered as a menace 
by Dr. J. Pease, towards the close of the i8th cen- 
tury in Lancaster Co., Pa., where a severe outbreak 
of the disease occurred following the importation of 
some cattle from North Carolina. Pease ascribed the 
cause directly to the cattle, without locating the tick 
as the cause. Experience soon showed the invariable 
result of the importation of southern cattle in great 
mortality among northern cattle. Years followed 
before any tangible cause could be located. Smith of 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

the Bureau of Animal Industry in 1889 was the first 
to locate the tick as the carrying cause, while Kil- 
boune of the same bureau in 18 89-1 890, by conclu- 
sive field experiments, suggested by Chief Salmon, 
proved the presence of the tick to be essential in the 
transmission of the fever. In 1891 Dr. Salmon es- 
tablished the Texas fever quarantine line, but for 
ten years he had been working on the theory, and 
was probably its actual discoverer. 

The Texas fever tick is continually confused with 
a number of other ticks, occasionally found on cattle, 
which, so far as the transmission of Texas fever is 
concerned, are entirely harmless, and which one of 
the department's earliest problems was to define and 
demonstrate as harmless. Farmers' Bulletin 569 by 
Dr. John R. Mohler is the most comprehensive 
pamphlet on the subject that I have read, and an 
historical address by Dr. U. G. Houck of the 
Federal Bureau of Animal Industry is probably the 
best thing of its kind. 

The ear tick, while harmless as to fever, is a 
menace at times in the northern parts of the Shinnery 
country of Texas. Coal oil or gasoline, injected by 
hand into the beast's ear, is the only practical remedy. 
Ordinary cattle dips do not penetrate far enough. 
Fever ticks claim the short-haired parts, and are 
rarely found on the head, and never in the ears. Often 
in winter the ear ticks will form a perfect cement in 
a cow's ear. We keep a lookout for cows of this 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

class, which are usually in low condition, finding their 
way to the feed grounds. One year ear ticks were so 
bad that we put the whole feeding bunch through a 
chute, and squirted coal oil into their ears, with good 
results. 

In closing this chapter I am constrained to pay a 
tribute to the splendid work done by the Federal Bu- 
reau of Animal Industry, through trying circum- 
stances and against much opposition, in the matter 
of obtaining individual and state cooperation. Its 
painstaking, patient methods are saving the world 
many times the cost of the whole bureau every year. 
Eventually, due to the bureau's initiative and per- 
sistent, constructive work, America will be free from 
fever ticks. 



[134] 




The late G. F. Szi'ift, founder of the house of Swift y Co. 



CHAPTER XV 

SOME PACKERS I HAVE KNOWN 

THROUGHOUT this series my reference to 
packers has been largely to the Kansas City 
Armours, with whom I spent twelve years. During 
that time I came and have since come into contact 
incidentally with the most of the other packers. It is 
my thought to review them from the standpoint of 
their influence in rescuing the cattle industry from 
chaos in the late '6o's. I shall limit myself to those 
who have passed over the Great Divide. 

At the time I went into the service the packing 
industry was emerging from a comparatively small 
business to the spread-out stage. Refrigeration was 
being improved by leaps and bounds. Branch houses, 
making the local distribution of fresh meat at great 
distances possible, were increasing rapidly; circuit 
cars were In their Infancy, and men were being sent 
Into every part of the world on trips of survey. 
Swift & Co. had recently built in Kansas, but were 
killing cattle only. One of my most thrilHng mem- 
ories Is that of creating new by-products, following 
up the Investigations of our scouts, and of the Intense 
rivalry among the men on the sales end, with packers 
to put over a new one or get general business. 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

Packers were large intertraders on long or short 
lines, as the flow of trade or specialization suggested. 
For instance, my house had an immense trade in pigs' 
feet. We bought the rough product, uncleaned, from 
several packers, who did not clean a hoof, but sold 
just as few in finished form as possible, and to fill 
orders bought them in tierces from us, filling smaller 
packages under their own labels. This intertrading 
gave us all an inter-acquaintance. Some of my warm- 
est friends today were strong trade rivals, while my 
work in Herefords took me much about the yards, 
and In close contact with packinghouse general yards 
buyers, and In turn I came at times into contact with 
the high bosses. 

I once heard "Johnny" Bowles at an International 
Live Stock Exposition auction sale speak of Nelson 
Morris as "that grand old Trojan." I think it covers 
my own estimate of him. My own association with 
him was casual, but he knew me whenever we met, 
and from the earliest days of the International always 
had a kindly word and "How arc those S. M. S.'s 
coming along? You got some good cattle, and you 
got a good boss." It happened that when the senior 
member of our firm, E. P. Swenson, was coming to 
Texas for ranch visits, Mr. Morris would be making 
a similar trip to see his black cattle near Midland. 
It was a wonderful herd, and Its dispersion left grand 
footprints in many parts of Texas. Quite often Mr. 
Morris and Mr. Swenson met on the trains. They 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

were great friends. Mr. Swenson has often reviewed 
his chats with Mr. Morris, pausing here and there 
to place special emphasis on some unusual bit of wis- 
dom or practical thought of value to us. They were 
always making plans for visiting each other's prop- 
erties, and I was to share in the treat; but something 
always happened to prevent the visits. I know how 
much Mr. Swenson regrets it, and to me it was a 
personal loss. Mr. Morris particularly wanted to 
see our system of calf winter maintenance in the days 
when we maintained in pens to sell and ship any 
month between November i and May i. From the 
earliest day of knowing Mr. Morris until the present 
moment I have thought of him as one of the strong 
elements for good in the live stock industry. He was 
an inspiration to good, clean trading. 

No American institution of commerce has had 
more wonders for me than the house of Swift & Co. 
While not detracting one iota from the splendid 
"carry on" work of his sons, until the house stands 
among the first commercial American achievements 
— and that means the world — everything can be re- 
duced to one great personality, G. F. Swift. What 
is perhaps an equally great achievement is that of 
the perpetuation of a great business, handed down 
from father to son, in which we have three para- 
mount illustrations in the packer world: the Swift 
boys, J. Ogden Armour and Edward Morris, who 
died and passed the work to Edward Morris, Jr. 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

Rich boys often enter Into succession with the handi- 
cap of great accompHshments by their fathers. These 
young men go up through fewer opportunities to 
fight out great problems. Their environment is one 
of comparative luxury. They are plunged into re- 
sponsibility. But all these men have shouldered their 
heritage and carried the flag of American commerce 
on and on, in spite of the criticism, baiting and often 
persecution which have come to them, doing as 
much as their progenitors in widening the avenues 
of trade and saving waste to the world. 

The early story of G. F. Swift is well known. He 
was a peddler of meats in New England. Due to 
thrift and good business, he became a packer in Chi- 
cago in 1875, and extended his operations to Kansas 
City and Omaha in 1888 — about the time that I went 
with the Kansas City Armours. His struggle for 
growth probably represents the most wonderful 
financing in earlier years ever done by an American 
firm. I shall not attempt to describe what I know 
about the details except to say that he was a heavy 
borrower from country banks, always met his obli- 
gations promptly, and had a perfect system of "kiting 
drafts." He finally arriving at his great system of 
thousands of stockholders — a credit as good as the 
best — and a business equal to his greatest competitor. 
I know G. F. Swift slightly, but his characteristics 
and methods, as they have come to me by observa- 
tion and from many of his own men, have always 

[138] 




unAX^ J /Yx-^-^-^-^o-^^ 



The late Philip D. Armour, founder of the house of Armour y Co. 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

fascinated me. They were basically sound and con- 
sistently followed. Once when I happened to be in 
Denver I dropped in on the manager of the Denver 
Swift branch house. He was an old Kansas City 
friend. In the course of our chat I asked if "G. F." 
had been around lately. (Packinghouse men almost 
invariably refer to the "higher-ups" by their initials 
only.) "I should say he had," replied my friend; 
"he caught me napping, and he sure landed on me. 
The bookkeeper went to lunch. I happened to think 
of something in the railroad office about half a block 
away, and wasn't gone over fifteen minutes; but when 
I came back I found 'G. F.' sitting at the desk, 
counting the number of pencils we had in use at the 
same time. He said: 'This must be a safe com- 
munity if you can all go to lunch at once and leave 
the doors open,' Then, looking out at the wagons, 
which were all in by that hour, and lined for loading 
in the morning, he said: 'Is that just your idea of 
how Swift & Co. wagons should look?' I said, 'No, 
Mr. Swift; they need retouching, and I wrote Chi- 
cago last week for permission to have them painted.' 
Then I got my knock-out. He turned to me, and, 
with a little smile, said, 'Did you ask them if you 
could have them washed?' " 

After all it is the little thing which makes the 
big ones, and I took the story back to the hotel that 
night, giving myself a good mental survey, and found 
that I had asked to have several wagons painted, but 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

had overlooked having them washed. One of the 
most far-reaching works of the house of Swift & Co., 
done by the great mind of G. F. Swift, consisted in 
establishing the reputation for being "a good house 
to do business with," That meant high standards in 
products, fairness in adjusting claims, courtesy in 
every Individual, or, putting it another way, to quote 
Marshall Field, "The customer is always right, even 
when he is wrong." 

Mr. Swift's was the achievement of plodding per- 
sistence, gained by inches rather than by brilliant 
strokes, and the name of G. F. Swift will always be 
enrolled among the greatest captains of American 
Industry. 

The greatest individuality that I have ever come 
into contact with was that of Philip D. Armour. He 
was a partner In the Kansas City house, but the two 
houses were not consolidated until about the time I 
came to Texas. My association was purely a busi- 
ness one as against my Intimate personal relation with 
his nephew Kirk B. Armour; but the two houses en- 
couraged a close relation between the men in Chicago 
and those in Kansas City, resulting in frequent in- 
terchanging visits. Philip D. Armour always had 
the Kansas City men come into his office, and they 
usually left It with their conceit pretty well abstracted, 
and some very wise things to recollect. I know that 
It sounds harsh to read of the persistent policy of the 
Armours to "roast" their men, but as a matter of 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

fact It was only the old Irish trick of whipping up 
the free horse. The men loved it because they knew 
It was a sort of pat on the back, and an admission 
that a fellow had something In him. 

I have rarely known a more lovable man than Mr. 
Armour. He was the sort who loved those whom he 
chastened. His men worth while loved him, and 
realized that after they came out from a "once over," 
or even after getting the "third degree," they did so 
with new fighting power. They were nicely cleaned 
up, like men getting out of the barber's chair after 
a round-trip. No commercial eye in American trade 
history has had the vision, with the quick-action 
executive ability behind It, that Mr. Armour had. 
His was the kind of vision which has been behind all 
great trades. It was this vision which took him from 
the York State farm to the goldfields, and made a 
fortune in pork after the Civil War. This character- 
istic came under my own observation several times, 
notably before the panic, I think in 1893; but I am 
not where I can look up the year. For months before 
it struck he was accumulating gold In his Chicago 
vaults, and shipping gold to Kansas City. When 
the evil day came both the Chicago and Kansas City 
Armours bought live stock every day, paying for It 
in gold Instead of the usual check clearance. Again 
In 1893 an attempt to break him was made. He had 
bought wheat heavily in the northwest. The sellers 
planned to deliver him the actual product largely in 

[ 141 ] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

excess of Chicago wheat storage capacity. Reviews 
of this Incident speak of It as the "crisis of his life." 
Architects told him that It would take six months to 
build the capacity needed. He brushed them aside, be- 
gan work in a few hours, and in forty-two days was 
receiving wheat In the new elevator. Of the curing 
cellars in Kansas City old "Matt" Harris had charge. 
He was a wizard in his work, but could hardly read 
or write. He could figure, however. Often he was 
given some unusual problem to handle, and his in- 
variable reply to K. B. Armour was "It is 'w^posslble,' 
Mr. Armour, but we will do it." If I were to cast 
about for some phrase to illustrate the life of Philip 
D. Armour I should use "Matt's" words "It is 'un- 
possible,' but we will do it." 

I recall a personal Incident which I might run into 
pages, and leave it still uncovered. I was in the 
Armour branch house ofEce In Los Angeles on one 
of my western trips, when "P. D.," as we spoke of 
him, came In with a party of Chicago friends. Among 
them was Rev. Frank W. Gunsaulus, with whom Mr. 
Armour had close association In his extended philan- 
thropic work. There began a friendship which has 
been more than a joy, rather a refuge, to me ever 
since, and I think of him as America's greatest di- 
vine. I was asked to go with the Armour party to 
visit the Cudahy killing plant. In parting "P. D." 
said: "We are touring California and the north 
coast. Whenever you find our car on your train come 

[142] 




The late Nelson Morris, founder of the house of Morris y Co. 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

In and stay with us." About a week later I crawled 
onto a train at Sacramento at 5 a. m. I noticed his 
car on the train, but thought that I would wait until 
after breakfast before making a call. His personal 
attendant came through the train about 6 130 and 
recognized me. He returned shortly to say that Mr. 
Armour (always an early riser) wanted me to come 
back to breakfast and remain with them, as they were 
going to be run "special." I wish I might have space 
to describe that wonderful trip via Mt. Shasta, 
Rogue River Valley, and the Willamette Valley. 
The train consisted of an engine and the private ob- 
servation car. Peach trees were in bloom, and 
spring's charm was upon the landscape and in the air. 

After breakfast Mr. Armour took me into the back 
end of the car and asked, "Well, what have you been 
doing?" I was pretty well fixed; luck had been com- 
ing my way, and I rephed that I had sold eighteen 
cars of hams the day before. "That's fine," he said; 
then came that vision in the remark: "You don't 
have to go any higher up than me for instructions, 
and I tell you to sell this stuff and never stop selling. 
We are going to be smothered with hogs this fall, 
and I want a clean house. You will of course con- 
fer with your house, but if you get in a tight place, 
and haven't time, sell ; you know enough about value 
not to go wild." 

I never knew what he wired my house, if any- 
thing; but the house evidently had his ideas in con- 

[143] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

firming my sales, and working on the basis of his 
instructions I had a lucky day in Portland, Ore., sell- 
ing 500 tierces of lard, and closing the deal just ten 
minutes before I had the house's confirmation, as 
the buyer had put a time limit on his offer. He was 
right; we were smothered that fall, but we met the 
situation with our general products up to cure. 

It was more than a year before I saw him again. 
I was called into his ofiice for the "third degree." 
I believe that he would have made a good boxer, 
for as quickly as a fellow could get in a word in sup- 
port of his position Mr. Armour side-stepped and 
landed in a new place, until one was over the ropes 
and dizzy. He began by saying, "I have been itch- 
ing to get hold of you ever since we were on the coast. 
You were doing fairly well then, but you have gone 
plumb to the bad since." Then it came so fast that 
even Babe Ruth could not have hit one. When he 
had me on the mat, and I had taken the count, I 
said, "Mr. Armour, there is one thing I can't under- 
stand, and that is why a man of your wonderful 
business judgment should keep on paying wages to a 
fellow as rotten as I am." 

He chuckled, shook himself, and said, "Why, that 
is just pure philanthropy," and then added, "Come 
on out and see the boys." He put his arm over my 
shoulder and, walking out into the old main oflSce 
on La Salle Street, said, "Boys, I want you to be 
mighty good to Frank, because the 'old man' has 

[144] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

been mighty mean to him." His face beamed with 
good nature, and I wondered whether, after all, I had 
not just dreamed that third degree, and yet I knew 
that a great mind had either wasted an hour on me or 
had given me some of its great wealth for my life's 
capital. 

By a strange coincidence I knew Michael Cudahy 
better from a personal standpoint than any of the 
packers, apart from those in my own house, and 
yet I knew less of him from a business standpoint 
than of the others. I was very fond of him. He 
had a charm of manner, a gentleness and a polish 
which appealed to me. Many of my frequent chats 
with him were full of pleasant memories. I recall 
passing a part of an afternoon and an evening with 
him on the train. I was impressed by his comprehen- 
sive general knowledge, but I cannot recall a char- 
acteristic story. He was for years general superin- 
tendent in the Armour Chicago plant before my time. 
He was an astute judge and handler of men. Every 
contact I had with him left its impress of force of 
character, keenness of judgment and trade Instinct. 
When he died I felt the keenness of a personal loss. 



[145] 



CHAPTER XVI 

THE LONG TRAIL 

IT IS not my thought to attempt to treat the trail- 
ing of cattle over long distances from Texas to 
Montana and the general northwest, or from Texas 
to Kansas, from a personal standpoint, because these 
movements preceded my advent into the range indus- 
try. My memories are of association with men who 
were active in that epoch, and in turn have given 
me their own backward vision, or I have obtained it 
from a careful study of what has been published in 
random reviews. For those who wish the story in 
detail I recommend a book just published by the trail 
drivers of Texas. It may be had of Geo. W. Saund- 
ers, San Antonio, Tex., president of the Old Trail 
Drivers' Association, at a price which he will quote on 
request. Two books written by Andy Adams, an old 
trail boss, furnish in fascinating detail all the inci- 
dents of a dozen trails crowded into a composite 
story of one trail. One of his books is The Log of 
a Cowboy. It tells of trailing from Texas to the 
northwest, while JVells Bros., his other book, contains 
the story of trails to Kansas, and of the men who 
built up a business along the line buying sore-footed 
cattle. These volumes may be had through gen- 

[146] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

eral booksellers. I have had several letters asking 
me if I can locate copies of the out-of-print McCoy 
book, to which I have referred previously in this 
series, and two men have written that they were com- 
ing to Texas to see the volume ! 

One of my fellow-townsmen made five trips on the 
trail, and many cowmen still in the range country 
made at least one trip while they were youngsters. 
There is rarely a convention of the cattle raisers of 
Texas which does not bring forward a series of rem- 
iniscent talks from some old-time trail boss. These 
talks recall that the freemasonry of the industry 
stood In those days for considerable latitude. I re- 
member a story which illustrates it. A drove of 
2,000 head was started on the trail from south Texas 
to Montana. The drivers arrived with 2,000 head, 
but about half of them were then in other brands 
than those with which they had started. The drivers 
had lost cattle in stampedes and had gathered their 
number, regardless of brands, as they went along. 
That was their code, but it must be remembered that 
beef had so small a value that, as Saunders records 
in the old trail drivers' book, "to be had for the 
asking." It was, too, all of the same general qual- 
ity, "The Longhorn was in the heyday of his glory," 
and was practically on a par with wild game. I re- 
member Ike Pryor's telling in one of his reminiscent 
speeches of an immense drove of aged cattle, bought 
at $6 per head on the Rio Grande, on which he lost 

[147] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

money. The freemasonry then had Its logic, and the 
scramble for the maverick was more of a game than 
anything else. 

The same basic motive which started Texas herds 
north In 1868, or even earlier, applies today. In the 
fact that cattle taken from the south to the north 
make wonderful gains. A fat cow which will weigh 
1,000 pounds on grass In Texas today will at the 
same age show from 200 to 300 pounds more on the 
bunch grass of Montana, perhaps not so much In 
Kansas or on cornbelt bluegrass, but certainly an 
appreciable Increase. That Is why the Texas feeder 
of today Is popular. It Is simply Its Instinct to put 
on heavy gains when taken north. I have heard 
cowboys tell of their horses which were sold at the 
end of the Montana trail. On returning the next 
year it was difficult for them to recognize even pet 
horses, which appeared to them to have grown taller 
and spread out, giving them the appearance of en- 
tirely different animals. Upon a casual glance at a 
Texas "remuda" (the range name for a bunch of 
cow ponies) after a year on Montana bunch grass, 
the boys said that they would not have recognized 
them as the same lot brought up the preceding season. 

One of the difficult things that I have encountered 
in this chapter is an attempt to divide Into epochs 
the trail industry to Kansas and the Kansas City 
market, and that to the northwest. "Joe" McCoy In 
his book published In 1874 records a small move- 

[148] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

ment to the northwest, while scattered through the 
individual sketches of the old trail drivers' book I 
find records of trails to Cheyenne and even Utah in 
1870 or earlier. After a good deal of reading on the 
subject, I think it fair to divide the trail industry 
into two sections : First to Kansas and Nebraska 
(1866 to 1880) and, second, to the northwest (1874 
to 1889). There were undoubtedly interlocking trails 
and trails subsequent to 1888. Ogallala, Neb., per- 
haps comes in for the widest range of dates. It 
is spoken of in the data which I have been studying 
as "the northern market." I find in individual cases 
many records of cattle taken on from Ogallala to 
northwestern points, but usually sold there, and dif- 
ferent outfits taking them on. In a general way, 
I think all trails to Ogallala must be thought of as 
reaching a point for distribution. In compiling what 
follows I have gone carefully over more than 1,000 
pages of various early histories, mostly made up of 
individual experiences. It must be remembered that 
Indian troubles occurred more or less all the time, 
and that they were naturally worse on the north- 
west trail. Many trail bosses record keeping peace 
with the Indians by giving them a beef every day. 
I have not, however, attempted to portray the thrill- 
ing incidents of trails over eighteen years. Through- 
out my study of records, and in the course of talks 
with old trail drivers, dates have been the most dif- 
ficult to obtain. Alvin H. Sanders In his chapter 

[149] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

entitled "The Long Trail" in The Story of the Here- 
fords evidently encountered the same diffculty, be- 
cause he used no dates, and Andy Adams devotes 
himself to incidents, without giving dates. With this 
handicap I must beg the indulgence of my readers 
if apparent or real inaccuracies should occur, because 
it has been a tedious and time-consuming task to pre- 
sent the result of my research. 

Jerry M. Nance in his reminiscences records that 
the trail to the northwest was drawing to a close in 
1889. In random data I find the comment that the 
trail to New Mexico was closed in 1895, after having 
been used twenty-seven years, but from other data 
I find that the trail to the northwest diminished 
gradually from 1885 to 1889. I was in Colorado 
several times from 1880 to 1895, and had occasion 
to notice the rapid encroachments of fences during 
that period. 

Texas was fencing rapidly; herds could of course 
trail through big pastures, but the old open range 
days were passing by leaps and bounds. The S. M. S. 
people built their first wire fences in 1882, and were 
among the pioneers. Saunders, in his introductory 
chapter entitled "Old Trail Drivers," says: 

In 1867 and for some subsequent years there were no 
wire fence or material enclosures from the Gulf of Mexico to 
Kansas ; grass was knee-high, and beef was to be had for the 
asking. In Texas there was no demand for the longhorn or 
his hide, but in other states, where the population was 

[150] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

greater, both were needed. Trail drives were through 
regions infested with hostile Indians, who many times car- 
ried off the scalps of cowboys. 

I find that the great preponderance of trail driv- 
ers, particularly the owners — trail bosses and straw- 
bosses — originated in south Texas. This was quite 
natural, however, because it is the oldest part of the 
state, from a cattle industry standpoint. The great 
bulk of the drivers seem to have made their homes at 
Lockhart, in Caldwell Co., Tex., about 70 miles 
northeast of San Antonio. It is estimated by Saun- 
ders that in twenty-eight years, beginning with 1866, 
an average of 350,000 cattle per year went up the 
trail from Texas or 9,800,000 all told, at an aver- 
age of $10 per head at home; and 1,000,000 horses 
at an average of $10 per head at home, or, in money, 
$1,008,000,000 in twenty-eight years. Had these old 
trail drivers not sought out the northern market, cat- 
tle must have died at home, and the range been so 
overstocked as to cause much of it to become worth- 
less. Too generous a tribute therefore cannot be paid 
to the few fearless men who took up the trail vigor- 
ously in 1867. Saunders concludes his thought by 
showing the influence on its followers in reaching high 
places by adding: 

The ranks of the old-time trail drivers are getting thin- 
ner. They are scattered from Texas to the Canadian 
border, and from California to New York. Some are rated 
in Dun's and Bradstreet's in the seven-figure column; many 

[151] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

are at the head of Texas banks or owners of goodly herds of 
well-bred cattle, while some are the result of the human 
average and ending their days in humble circumstances. 

The Old Trail Drivers' Association now has its 
annual meeting at the same time and place as the 
Cattle Raisers' Association of Texas. It is a joy to 
see them together, and If one can get into the sacred 
circle where a knot of them Is living stirring events 
over again In reminiscent exchanges, It beats all the 
fiction of the day. 

To Saunders' comment about the overstocking of 
the range without the trail industry should be added 
a line on the American buffalo, which wintered 
largely In Texas. Chas. A. Sirlngo in his book A 
Lone Star Cowboy writes of having visited Amarillo 
in 19 1 2, when a buffalo bull bought from Capt, Chas. 
Goodnight was hung up to sell at $1 per pound on 
New Year's eve. The author reflects that In 1877 
he saw near Amarillo a herd that was estimated to 
comprise 1,000,000 buffaloes in one black mass. 

At this point I must digress for a moment. Saun- 
ders comments that at the close of the Civil War the 
soldiers came back home "broke." Old men, boys 
and Negroes had taken care of the cattle, many of 
which were unbranded; the range was overstocked, 
but there was no market. I find, however, in other 
records that two cattle-killing plants were located at 
Lockhart, Tex., In 1861, and It may be of some inter- 
est to interpolate some personal Swenson history. 

[152] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

The elder Swenson was a pioneer Texas country 
merchant. He first located at Richmond, Tex., on 
the Brazos River, about 40 miles above its mouth In 
Fort Bend county, and by a strange coincidence his 
sons, the owners of the S. M. S, Ranch, now manage 
a sulphur syndicate at Freeport at the mouth of the^' 
Brazos, acquired in the last ten years. This prop- 
erty, with the Louisiana sulphur mines, furnished all 
the sulphur for the Allies during the World War, the 
Freeport company furnishing between 1,500 and 
2,500 tons daily. The elder Swenson moved to 
Austin, and before the war to New York, where he 
started a bank, and also functioned as a sort of clear- 
ing house for Texas products shipped by boat, such 
as hides, tallow and barreled beef. The Swensons 
were also agents for all the cotton ties used in Amer- 
ica, and for years carried 90 per cent of the Texas 
banks' eastern exchanges. It will be seen, therefore, 
that Texas beef and by-products were being marketed 
to some extent many years before the advent of the 
Kansas City packing houses. 

I find records of venturesome spirits that took 
trail herds into Louisiana and other Confederate 
states during the war for use in the Confederate 
Army, and sold them at profitable prices, but were 
paid in Confederate money, most of which eventu- 
ally was worthless, although it was current for the 
purchase of general products for a time. 

J. N. Boyles in 1866 drove a herd from Texas to 

[153] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

central Iowa for Monroe Choate and Borroum. M. 
A. Withers drove a herd in 1859 from Lockhart, 
Tex., to Fredericksburg, Tex., and in 1862 to Shreve- 
port, La., selling the cattle at $20 per head, delivered. 
In 1870 W. E. Cureton took 1,500 head to a point 
near Los Angeles, Cal., wintered them there, and 
took them on to Reno, Nev., in 187 1. E. A. Roe- 
buck went with a herd to North Dakota in 1876, 
and made a trip soon after to Utah. L. B. Anderson 
records that he was eighteen years on the trail, with- 
out exact range as to dates. A. N. Eustace made eight 
trips (1879 to 1887), comprehending both Kansas 
and the northwest, W. B. Hardeman refers to a 
trail to the northwest in 1886 with Blocker, Davis 
and Driscoll. The stock comprised 40,000 cattle and 
1,400 horses. -R. McCoy mentions 260,000 cattle as 
crossing Red River in 1866. He speaks of 35,000 
cattle reaching Abilene, Kans., in 1867 or i per cent 
of the then estimated cattle in the United States, as 
calculated on the basis of probably meager Govern- 
mental data. Siringo records that in 1880 the "Old 
Chisholm" trail was impassable for large herds, as 
with plows the "fool hoe men" were turning its 
packed surface into ribbons. He also states that In 
July of that year he reached Tascosa, Tex,, with a 
trail herd of 3,700 head for the northwest, and that 
during their rest at Tascosa the first cowboy. Cape 
Willingham, was killed, the incident forming the 
basis for the afterwards famous "Boot Hill Ceme- 

[154] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

tery," in which only men who died with their boots 
on were buried. I wish I might pause to give more of 
its history, gleaned from printed facts and word-of- 
mouth stories told by old-timers. 

In 1882 Jack Potter took a herd to Little Big 
Horn in Wyoming. R. D. Hunter in 1867 drove 
1,200 head from Texas to Omaha, and sold the stock 
to Government contractors at a good profit; he also 
sold 2,500 head in Chicago in 1869 at a profit. In 
1879 S. D, Houston took a herd to Ogallala, Neb., 
as also did "Jefi." D. Harris in 1881, which, in a 
way, defines the movement into the Dakotas through 
Ogallala as a northern market. I could fill pages 
with dates falling into my arbitrary epochs, but I 
have only sought to show their individual variation. 

In 1873 the panic almost wiped trailmen to Kan- 
sas off the map, but in 1874, while the drives were 
lighter, the year was quite generally profitable. 1 87 1 
was a bad year, while 1872 proved successful. Mc- 
Coy says that 450,000 cattle entered Kansas in 1873, 
besides 50,000 turned eastward at Coffeyville, Kans., 
for a Missouri Pacific Railway connection. The 
Kansas trail is confusing to some extent, as herds 
went via Baxter Springs, Kans., thence into south- 
ern Missouri in 1867 to 1869 to make a connection 
with the Missouri Pacific. In the same years trail 
herds went from southern Texas into New Orleans. 
These were in the main small, and the great mass 
went to Abilene, Kans., or to some other Union Pa- 

[ 155 ] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

clfic point, until the Santa Fe began to take them 
at Dodge City, Kans. Herds along the line were be- 
ginning to form, but from 1867 to well along in the 
'70's Kansas and Nebraska were the great objectives. 
During that period it was not so much a question of 
making money as finding a market for surplus stock 
at some price. Very little money was available for 
financing, so that buying on credit in Texas, the sums 
to be paid upon the return of the drivers, who gave 
no other security than their word and a list of brands, 
with the amount due, was the rule. There are many 
stories of the sharpers who operated at Abilene. 
Bogus checks were used, and cattle were bought to be 
paid for in Chicago. Every conceivable scheme 
known to the trickster was worked on credulous stock- 
men, whose word at home was better than a bond. 

According to W. P. Anderson the Old Chisholm 
Trail was named after a half-breed called Jesse Chis- 
holm, who ranched in the Indian Territory. In the 
early '6o's he had driven a herd of cattle to the Gov- 
ernment forts on the Arkansas River. The name 
has often been abbreviated and used as "Chism." 
Siringo in A Lone Star Cowboy gives the following 
as the origin of the Chisholm trail. It was furnished 
him by David M. Sutherland, Alamogordo, N. M. 

In about 1867 the United States Government decided to 
move some 3,000 Indians (Wichitas, Caddos, Wakos, Ana- 
darkos) to a new reservation in Indian Territory. Their 
camp was located on the Arkansas River, where Chisholm 

[156] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

and Cow Skin Creeks flow into that stream. They were 
moved during the Civil War with Maj. Henry Shanklin in 
charge. He had made a deal with a rich half-breed "squaw 
man," Jesse Chisholm, to open a trail, and establish supply 
depots. Cow ponies were used to drive back and forth at 
crossings in treacherous quicksand streams, such as the Dou- 
ble Mountain and Salt Forks of the Brazos, Cimmaron and 
North and South Canadian, settling the sand and permitting 
the crossing of heavy wagons. [This process is still used in 
Texas, and during my early years in the state when driving 
across country we often unharnessed the horses when swollen 
rivers were encountered, riding them back and forth, and in 
later years I have taken off my shoes and tramped in the 
sand, still "quicky" after a rise, in order to make crossing in 
an auto safe.] With the advent of the trail driving the 
Chisholm trail was extended, and as nearly as exhaustive 
research can determine in the somewhat conflicting accounts 
by different authors it was as follows: C. H. Rust, San 
Angelo, Tex., says the trail started at San Antonio and 
ended at Abilene, Kans. The route was San Antonio to 
New Braunfels, thence to San Marcos, Austin, Right Round 
Rock, Georgetown, Salado and Belton to old Fort Graham 
near Waco ; thence to Cleburne and Fort Worth, and on to 
Bolivar, where the trail forked out, most trails going up 
Elm to St. Joe on Red River; thence to Nation, Beaver 
Creek, Monument Rocks, Washita Crossing and Canadian 
River to the north Fork, Prairie Creek and King Fisher 
Creek; thence to Caldwell, Solomon and Abilene, Kans., 
crossing Cow Skin Creek and the Arkansas River and pass- 
ing via Brookville. 

The trail varied in width at river crossings from 50 to 
100 yards to from I mile to 2 miles at the widest points. 
The average drive per day was from 8 to 12 miles, and the 
time on the trail was 60 to 90 days from points in Texas to 
Abilene, Kans. The other trail from Bolivar crossed the 

[157] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

Red River below Gainesville on to Fort Arbuckle, and in- 
tersected the main trail at the south fork of the Canadian. 
The last main western trail ran by Coleman, Tex., Bell 
Plain, Baird, Albany, Fort Griffin and Double Mountain 
Fork, crossing Red River at Doan's Store, 

Saunders records another trail known as the Mc- 
Coy trail, which started at Corpus Christi, Tex., and 
ran to Austin, Georgetown, Buchanan, Decatur and 
Red River Station, all in Texas, and thence to Abi- 
lene in Kansas. 

McCoy relates that In 1870 1,400 selected beeves 
sold In Chicago at 4^/^ to 6}i cents, netting $20 per 
head to the producer, and that In 1 867 a buyer bought 
from a herd of 3,500 head his choice at $6 for 600 
head, and a second cut, his choice, of 600 head at 
$3 per head, or an average of $4.50 for 1,125-pound 
beeves or 40 cents per 100 pounds. They were prob- 
ably fours, fives and sixes. This Is the only refer- 
ence to weights during the early period found so far 
in my reading. 



[158] 



CHAPTER XVII 

TEXAS COW PONIES AND STUD HORSE LUCK 

A LARGE number of Texas cow outfits have 
had their notions about cow-pony crosses, the 
word "pony" being applied to all sizes of horses, and 
many breeders have succeeded In producing some 
good ones ; but, In the main, cow horse breeding has 
been a pure case of "scrambled eggs." It would seem 
to be hopeless to try to classify or try to get any- 
thing definite or rational in the way of distinct lines 
of breeding beyond the basis which can usually be 
traced to pure Spanish origin In Texas breeding. I 
am told that Colorado and the northwestern states 
trace their cow horses to the Mustang. Texas draws 
many cow horses from Colorado, but they are not 
liked so well as the Texas-bred horse by Texas cow 
people. My own investigations deal with Texas- 
bred horses. 

Many ranch outfits do not breed horses, but depend 
upon purchases, as needed, usually picking up odd 
young horses, here and there, as anything suitable 
is found. In the main, however, they buy bunches 
from a trader or commission some one to put up a 
band under certain specifications. These outfits do 
not often have so satisfactory a ramuda as outfits 
raising their own horses. 

[159] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

I often think that old Steel Dust must turn over 
in his grave when his blood is made responsible for 
some of the broom-tails tacked onto him. It is still a 
name to conjure with, but almost every horse trader 
who has not recently joined the church or been 
rescued from backsliding will declare that his line of 
equine stock is largely Steel Dust in its breeding. 
There have been some outstanding Steel Dust stal- 
lions used in Texas, but for the most that blood has 
gone into cow bunch outfits through grade stallions. 

From one standpoint it seems incredible that with 
so much depending upon the cow pony the whole plan 
of producing him should apparently have been badly 
neglected; and yet until ten years ago his value lay 
entirely in having him educated, or developed into a 
cow horse. 

I recall that when I came to Texas in 1902 the 
S. M. S. outfit sold 200 mares at $7.50 per head, 
giving the buyer his pick; but it was really more a 
surplus than a cull sale. Value, therefore, in the 
early days had its influence upon neglect. 

Talking with men in outfits that bred their own 
horses, I am convinced that the whole problem of 
breeding cow horses has been saved by "the law of 
selection" in sires — not registered or purebred stal- 
lions, the early-day sires being selected by men who 
knew a good horse, and used him because he was a 
good horse, I know of only one Texas ramuda which 
can be called a "type" — the 6666 outfit, owned by 

[160] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

S. B. Burnett of Forth Worth. It Is the result of a 
carefully thought-out and followed line of breeding. 
Mr. Burnett and the Indian chief Quanah Parker 
formed a close friendship in early days, which lasted 
until that Indian's death not long ago. Mr. Burnett 
had something like an Indian's love for a "paint" 
horse, as he is known on the range, or pinto or calico 
or circus horse, as most know him. Quanah Parker 
furnished the basis, and Mr. Burnett has lived to 
gratify his dearest wish — "To drive a purebred herd 
of cattle to market with a paint ramuda;" but the 
paint ramuda is a story in Itself, which I may tell as 
such at another time. 

Every other Texas ramuda that I know contains 
all colors and classes: Horses that will weigh i,ioo 
pounds, others that look like schoolboy's ponies, and 
some of the best horses in the ramuda in both classes. 

A brief history of the S. M. S. cow ponies will 
probably typify the haphazard methods of cow pony 
breeding. Perhaps some cowmen and cowboys of 
other outfits may smile when I classify the S, M. S. 
ramuda as "good." It has more size than the aver- 
age ramuda, but Is, I think, regarded as above the 
average, from a cow horse standpoint. In 1882, 
when the S. M. S. Ranch was started, a horse trader 
came through the country with what was called a 
good bunch of Spanish mares. Fifty of these were 
bought to start the S. M. S. breeding band. Spanish 
horses, as I understand them, were a pure Mexican 

[161] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

breed — small, mean, tough, quick as a cat, and had 
the "cow instinct," which suggests that it may be well 
to say what a cow pony should be. His first qualifi- 
cations are speed and endurance. Nevertheless, one- 
may have these and still not have much of a cow 
horse. He may be all right for ordinary rounding 
or line work, but he is not a cow horse unless he have 
"cow sense" as a dominant characteristic. Training 
has much to do with it, but he must have the instinct 
for holding a roped animal, "turning on a half-dol- 
lar," and countering every move of an animal that is 
being cut out. The old Spanish horses had this in- 
stinct as true as the bird dog has the bird instinct, 
and that Is why Spanish blood Is the basis of most 
Texas ramudas. Practically no producer of cow 
horses, however, appears to have been satisfied to stay 
with the Spanish blood, in Its purity. The difl'iculty 
of getting satisfactory Spanish sires may largely ex- 
plain this fact, but probably meanness had much to do 
with the popular desire to breed the strain up with- 
out losing the cow Instinct. 

To go back to the fifty Spanish marcs bought to 
found the S. M. S. breeding bunch, a sire was needed, 
and as the early employees of the ranch had come 
from Williamson county they went back home for a 
stallion. I have their statement that he was Arabian. 
Certain It Is that he possessed nerve, endurance, style 
and action, was "a horse all over," and pure white. 
Many of his get were still in use when I came to the 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

S. M. S, Ranch twenty years later, and from them I 
formed my early Ideals of great cow ponies. 

The Arabian sire, regardless of what he really was, 
illustrates what has probably saved the cow pony — 
"the law of selection." Some man with good horse 
sense had picked the right sort of sire. 

For years the S. M. S. Ranch ramuda could be 
identified at a great distance by the predominance of 
white horses in it, and even today, when some spe- 
cial occasion demands, the entire outfit will come out 
mounted on white horses. 

Several Missouri saddle horses were crossed on 
the daughters of Arab ; also a high-strung Standard- 
bred horse. A good Thoroughbred followed. In 
1 90 1 pure Spanish-bred stallions from the King 
Ranch were put in, followed by some grade Per- 
cheron and Clydesdale strains from native mares. 
Many of the best horses In the ramuda are from these 
latter staHIons, crossed on mares which represented 
Spanish, Standard-bred, Arabian, Thoroughbred and 
Missouri saddle stock, mixed beyond all hope of ac- 
curate classification. Then followed more Missouri 
saddle stock and Standard-breds, and a race horse 
from a Standard-bred and pure Thoroughbred cross, 
which had a mark of 2:14 In his first year, but went 
lame and came to us at a bargain. 

A German Coacher, bred from the halter to mares 
selected for their fitness to mate with him for driv- 
ers, for work horses, and some experiments with cow 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

ponies in view, has produced some excellent horses in 
all classes; but his chief value from a cow standpoint, 
will be in the cross of some of the Morgan strains, 
or the race horse on his daughters. 

During the past five years, nine registered Morgan 
lorses from the Richard Sellman Farm, Rochelle, 
Tex., have been added. They weigh i,ooo to 1,150 
pounds, naked. 

A constant culling of mares occurs in all ages. No 
mares are used in any of the ranch work, but a grad- 
ing of geldings, suitable for farm work for drivers 
and for cow horses, is made, which helps wonderfully 
in concentrating in the ramuda the best cow horses. 
Probably 60 per cent of the horses cut out for cow 
work make fair cow horses, 20 percent really good 
ones, and 10 percent "crackerjacks." 

The S. M. S. Ranch horse total is 1,100 head for 
all purposes; 500 head are used in distinct cattle 
work, and 100 for farm, freighting or team work. 
There are about 275 breeding mares, the remaining 
225 being in various classes and ages coming on. The 
capacity of one jack is used for mule production. 

The cow horse contingent takes care of 400,000 
acres of pasture, conservatively stocked with cattle. 
Cow horses are broken as threes in the spring. Their 
average use in cow work is 12 years, and it is no ex- 
ception to find horses 18 to 20 years old still doing 
good work, notably cutting horses, saved for that 
work, and not used for general riding. These fig- 

[164] 




?«,^-:a: 



Photo l)y Vinson 

"or Cabby" — 22 years old and still in service on S. M. S. Ranch 
{See poem opposite page) 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

THE OL' COW HOSS 

When it comes to saddle bosses, there's a difference in steeds ; 
There is fancy-gaited critters that will suit some feller's needs, 
There is nags high-bred an' tony with a smooth and shiny skin, 
That will capture all the races that you want to run 'em in. 
But for one that never tires ; one that's faithful, tried an' true ; 
One that alius is a "stayer" when you want to slam him 

through, 
There is but one breed o' critters that I ever come across, 
That will alius stand the racket — 'tis the Ol' Cow Hoss ! 

No, he ain't so much fer beauty, fer he's scrubby an' he's 

rough. 
An' his temper's sort o' sassy, but you bet he's good enough! 
Fer he'll take the trail o' mornings, be it up or be it down, 
On the range a-huntin' cattle or a lopin' into town. 
An' he'll leave the miles behind him an' he'll never sweat 

a hair, 
'Cuz he is a willing critter when he's goin' anywhere. 
Oh, your thoroughbred at runnin' in a race may be the boss, 
But fer all-day ridin' lemme have the Ol' Cow Hoss. 

When my soul seeks peace an' quiet on the home ranch of 

the blest, 
Where no storms nor stampedes bother, an' the trails are 

trails o' rest ; 
When my brand has been inspected an' pronounced to be 

O. K., 
An' the boss has looked me over an' has told me I kin stay. 
Oh, I'm hopin' when I'm lopin' off across that blessed range. 
That I won't be in a saddle on a critter new an' strange; 
But I'm prayin' ev'ry minnit that up there I'll ride across 
That big heaven range o' glory on an Ol' Cow Hoss. 

— ^A. A. Brininstool, in Los Angeles Express. 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

ures are based on horses which live, and do not com- 
prise the fools or outlaws, which are cut out and sold 
in what is known as the "scalawag bunch." 

At one time the demand for polo ponies, and the 
idea that Texas cutting horses filled the bill, threat- 
ened to make a serious drain on our cow horse stock, 
because the required qualifications took the best cow 
horses; but the situation was saved by the specifica- 
tion for height, and the fact that most outfits would 
not part with their best horses at any price. 

The demand for war horses used up much of the 
good floating cowboy stock to be picked up young and 
untrained. It was usually raised by young country 
boys. If an outfit had to go out and buy a ramuda 
of lOO horses, the units would be difficult to pick up 
at any price in the country. 

An outstanding cow horse is worth what he will 
bring, and it is Inadvisable to quote a price which is 
thought too high for the other fellow to pay. I have 
seen more than one man who priced a horse too high 
back clean down, rather than let his horse go. There 
are more buyers for a $300 cow horse than there are 
horses good enough to realize that price or owners 
willing to sell. 

I have been hearing all my life about "stud horse 
luck," but with never a thought of its origin. It 
comes home to me now as I think of S. M. S. luck 
in getting that first good horse Old Arab, and that 
leads to the conclusion that, after all, "stud horse 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

luck" may mean that instinct has much to do with 
what we commonly call luck, and that the instinct in 
knowing a good horse may have been a definite plan 
of breeding in the production of many good Texas 
cow ponies by many outfits. 



[167] 



CHAPTER XVIII 

THE STORM: A "mAGe" STORY 

IT WAS late in October. We were going through 
the unusual experience of delivering late in the 
season to a Dakota buyer some 900 yearlings. He 
had made his cut, and driven off to look at some 
other stuff, while I started to town to see that every- 
thing was ready for the shipment next day. The out- 
fit trailed with the herd to throw into a hold pasture 
at headquarters for the night. The afternoon had 
been sultry, and I noticed great thundercaps piling 
up in the northeast, but wind and weather do not 
count much in west Texas when one has something 
to do. 

Summer had been rather on the yellow order, and 
the old Indian sign, "clouds all around and rain fall- 
ing down in the middle," formed about the only 
weather bureau that we took much stock in. So I 
did not pay much attention to the kindly warnings as 
I passed headquarters. I rode the chestnut mare 
Beauty, a handsome, wilful beast, the fastest in the 
country for a long-distance run. She had her own 
ideas about who should run things, but she always 
responded to the call of duty, and her endurance was 
a wonder. We had made many a hard ride to see 

[i'68] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

the baby go to bed, and the hour of daylight seemed 
ample In which to make 1 2 miles to town. I did not 
care to get caught In the mesqultes after dark on a 
bad night. Things did look pretty bad, though. The 
atmosphere was sullen; scarcely any air stirred. 
There was a sort of oppressive hush. Greenish and 
yellowish tints hung like veils of vapor about the 
clouds. The dying day sent Its flickering shadows 
like a ghastly smile, as If to say, "You and the night 
for It. I'm off." I gave Beauty the word, and we 
hit the trail at a strong distance-covering gait, which 
I knew she could keep. 

A mile traveled, and she was sweating; the air 
seemed almost hot. Half a mile further we passed a 
settler's house which looked mighty good in the deep- 
ening gloom, but we had started, and the storm 
might go around. A quarter further and we shot 
Into a cool current of air, as if it were out of a hot 
bath Into a cold room. The mare shivered; then 
we met a distinctly cold breeze, and on came the 
storm. Beauty turned as it struck, but responded 
promptly to the rein, faced it for a few yards, and 
then reared and turned. Again she took it, this time 
with the bit in her teeth, and went at it as though try- 
ing to jerk a load through a mud bog, her blood up, 
and fighting hard. My head was almost on my 
breast; the rain beat with fierce force, and I was glad 
after ten yards of fight to have her turn again. We 
seemed to be in one glare of electricity and a roar as 

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A RANCHMAN^S RECOLLECTIONS 

of a battle. We made for the settler's house. The 
horse lot was open and lightning struck one end of 
the house gallery as we dodged under the shed. 

I waited for a lull, and rode back to headquarters. 
The boys were just getting in; the storm had struck 
them just after throwing the cattle into the hold pas- 
ture, and all they could do was to turn their backs 
and take it. During supper the storm came back 
from another direction; for an hour the winds blew; 
the heavens seemed one immense water bag, with the 
stopper out; lightning sizzed, thunder roared. We 
all sat around the fire drying our clothes. Most of 
the boys did not say anything, but one spoke of the 
big revival down at Fairview and '"lowed" that the 
outfit should all go down on Sunday. Another spoke 
of how much good Sam Jones had done in Texas, and 
that he was glad to see so many new churches in the 
county. Sam Sawyer told how he never had felt so 
good as when he helped pull a "nester" out of Double 
Mountain Fork when he got bogged down. 

With occasional shots as from a retreating battery 
the storm passed. One of the boys asked another for 
some paper and tobacco; several took a chew, and 
"Abilene" remarked, "That was a pretty doggoned 
hard storm." Somehow a weight seemed to have 
been lifted, and a sort of "come alive" feeling was 
apparent as opposed to the "drop a nickel in the 
contribution box" look that everyone had been wear- 
ing for an hour. 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

Mage got up from a "hot roll," whereon he had 
been resting, and stretched himself, and when Mage 
stretches it means six feet five inches of all cowman 
grinding his bones. 

"Fellers," he said, "as far as thet's consarn, I've 
alius noticed thet there's nothin' like a stampede in 
the skies to rope a cow camp down into a sort of 
revival meetin', an' I don't recall hearin' anything 
stronger than 'doggone' or 'dad gum,' come up dur- 
ing the millin' of a bad storm, 'cept onct, an' thet 
was the time we lost a herd on the Jane Wilson 
League." 

Everyone settled down for a story. Few men in 
west Texas have so much material or can put per- 
sonal reminiscence into so vivid and charming a form 
as Mage. The writer can only attempt vaguely to 
convey the theme; the sidelights of personality, in- 
tensity and humor, deep humanity and unconscious 
dramatic force can only be had when one hears Mage 
tell his own stories. 

"As far as thet's consarn," he went on, "I've been 
thlnkin' about it ever since this here storm com- 
menced to round. I have never seed two days more 
alike, an' it was jest about this time o' year. We 
had a steer herd — threes and fours — takin' to Sey- 
mour to ship to K. C, about a thousin', all wild as a 
snake, an' some rank outlaws among 'em, too. I was 
only a kid then— the 'S. M. S. Kid' they called me, but 
I could ride some, and they took me along. But the 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

outfit — thet was an outfit, all of 'em foremen now — 
there never was no better, an' them was the days 
of outfits, too. But when enyone tells you 'bout a 
foreman thet never lost a herd I'm a-goin' to show 
you a foreman thet never trailed much or throwed 
in with Providence on fair weather. 

"We got an early start; the steers traveled off 
brisk; the outfit was feelin' good an' the 'cussy' put 
up a regular Thanksgivin' dinner. The mornin' was 
fine, but about two in the evenin' the breeze layed 
'em down an' thundercaps begin to pile up like high 
pinnacles. The steers seemed to sniff somethin' ; the 
air got thick. We watered at the lake on the edge 
of the Jane Wilson League, and give 'em a long, loose 
herd up to the bed ground, jest as the sun was makin' 
camp — and sech a sunset ! There was somethin' creep- 
in' about it; made you think of cities on fire an' big 
clouds o' smoke, with the red o' the flames showin' 
through, an' then it died into a sick-like yaller, with 
green trimmin's. The thunder was a moanin' and 
mutterin' like a sick hound off in the mesquites. There 
was a stiddy flashin', and now and then them forked 
boys would work out like a crazy man throwin' a 
rope. It was dead-still, like waitin' at a funeral for 
the preacher to begin' and everybody was quiet, too, 
'cept Obe Hogan. If anybody ever starts a school 
to teach cussin' and swearin' Obe sure gits the high 
job. He kept commentin' an' remarkin' about things 
in general an' the clouds in particular in a way thet 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

I didn't take kindly to, hearin' an' lookln' at thet 
sky at the same time. 

"But the storm didn't break like It did tonight; 
jest kept a hangin'. The foreman 'lowed we better' 
catch our best night bosses and sleep without much 
undoln'. I ain't lost no cyclones, an' all the boys 
'cept Obe was about the same mind; so we jest sits 
aroun' and drinks coffee an' eats tea cakes till the 
cook druv us off. The first guard seemed to be gittin' 
on all right, an' we fell asleep. 'Bout an hour 'fore 
mJdnlght the foreman calls us an' says the cattle was 
gettin' restless, an' all hands went on duty. The air 
was still hot, and no stir. The llghtnin' had about 
quit after sunset, 'cept flashin' some. 

"We hadn't much more'n got to the herd when 
the air freshened an' things was gettin' right. Then 
it got cold, an' we could hear it comin'. Thunder 
and llghtnin' seemed to spring out of the mesquites. 
The foreman passed the word: 'Hold 'em till they 
git wet,' an' we began to circle. The cattle was on 
their feet in a second, with the first cold air; but we 
got the mill started by the time the storm hit. I've 
seen llghnin', an' this little show tonight was a purty 
good imitation, but thet was llghtnin' right. As far 
as thet's consarn', I've seen balls o' fire on the end 
of a steer's horn many a time, but there was a ball 
o' fire on the end of both horns on every one of them 
thousin' steers, an' the light in the balls of their eyes 
looked like two thousin' more. Talk about a mon- 

[173] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

key wrench fallin' from a windmill an' givin' you 
a sight o' the stars, or one of them Andy Jackson 
fireworks clubs puttin' off Roman candles at a Fort 
Worth parade! They're jest sensations; this here 
show Tm telling about was real experience. We seen 
things. 

"Obe Hogan hit the herd a cussin', and was cir- 
clin' between me and Sam Conroy, an' the way he 
turned out new ideas in advanced profanity made my 
blood creep. I was sure if lightnin' was goin' to hit 
it would be purty close to where Obe was, so, bein' 
in front, I kept movin' ; an' Sam, havin' about the 
same notions, tried to hole back, but somehow we 
kept bunchin', and Obe kept rippin' out an' gettin' 
better all the time. 

"Hold 'em? Well, we tried. We circled with 
the drift, and when they broke we tried to slick 'em, 
but the storm kept getting worse an' when one of 
them hot-off-the-griddle boys come they was off an' 
we was flounderin' over unknown ground, trustin' to 
heaven more than enything else. It was either black 
as pitch or the lightnin' blinded you so you couldn't 
see. I rode old Blutcher, an' when one of them out- 
law shocks would come he'd squat till my feet trailed. 
Three of us tried to head a big bunch an' I knew 
one of us was Obe. He hadn't got tongue-tied none 
during the storm; seemed like he'd caught his second 
wind. Onct for a while I didn't hear him, an' I sez 
to myself: 'Mage, it's lucky you didn't git hit, too.' 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

"Purty soon It was no use; they was gone. A mes- 
quite limb brushed me off, an' when I ht Sam Conroy 
was squattin' on the other side. I squatted, too. 
Lightnin' hit a mesqulte close by an' we moved out 
some, an' set takin' the storm for a long time with- 
out sayin' a word. 

"A storm reminds me of an ole cow on the prod. 
She'll fight for a while, but she loads, an' the storm 
was gettin' ready to load. It quit howlln', and begin 
to groan, an' was passin'. Sam turns to me an' sez, 
'Mage, I've been tellln' the Ole Marster that if He'll 
jest take me through this all right I'd try to make it 
up to Him in the way I lived from now on,' an' I 
sez, 'Sam, I'd a' liked to throwed in with you on thet,' 
an' Sam sez, 'Mage, I knowed you would from the 
way you was dodgin' Obe durin' his storm conversa- 
tion, so I jest put your name In the pot.' An' I sez, 
'Thank you, Sam.' 

"The next day after we got the herd together, me 
an Sam was trailin' together, an' his boss stepped into 
a badger hole, givin' Sam a fall, an' he lets out a few 
that wasn't jest parson talk, an' then he thinks an' 
sez, 'Mage, I'm a-goin' to make It up to Him all 
right, but I guess I'll have to hobble myself and put 
on a hackamore.' " 



[175] 



CHAPTER XIX 

SOME HUMBLE WESTERN CHARACTERS 

EVERY once in a while I pick up a literary 
' review which takes a shot at Bret Harte. All 
reviewers credit him with the production of real 
literature, but some charge him with a gross exag- 
geration of his western types, which they charac- 
terize as unreal, and the creatures of a romantic 
mind. Then I know that the reviewer has probably 
looked out of a Pullman window on his way across 
the continent, been wined and dined in some of the 
western clubs, wherein he has probably met the 
very types that Bret Harte described, but did not 
recognize them in their dress clothes, or know of 
their earlier lives. Bret Harte wrote of the long 
ago, when one could squat in any mining camp, and 
find his characters. The west is probably becom- 
ing the east very rapidly, but it still has its "John 
Oakhursts," as real today as then, but harder to 
find, and the average book-reviewer could not get 
in touch with them. 

It has been a felony for many years to gamble 
in Texas. I think it is so in most western states, 
but the west is still the west in most of the traits 
and characteristics which dominate the frontier. I 

[176] 



A RANCHMAN^S RECOLLECTIONS 

recall an incident in Montana — just a little thing 
which illustrates what John Oakhurst did in a big- 
ger way. He had the trait of sacrificing himself to 
protect others, if necessary; it was not courage but 
just a plain inherent willingness to do one's whole 
duty in a pinch, and take a chance. Perhaps it 
is not fair to call it western but rather American 
as our boys who "went across" have told the story 
in their deeds. Perhaps it is just because the west 
offers more hazards. I had gone with some friends 
over a high divide to an interior town near Mis- 
soula, Mont. Part of the road was along a canyon 
where one could look down a sheer thousand feet 
or more. The road in places was very narrow. 
There were cut-outs for passing. It was not bad 
in the daytime, but our business detained us, and 
nightfall overtook us before we reached the divide. 
There were four of us in an uncovered hack, a sort 
of spring wagon. The moon would not rise until 
late. I suppose that we were careless, laughing and 
talking, and telling stories, but we came to a sharp 
silence when our driver, an old mountaineer, stopped 
the team suddenly. We were well up on the divide, 
but some distance from a passing place. Out of the 
darkness came a voice, "Hello !" Our driver replied, 
"That you. Hank?" Then from the darkness came 
this: "Hello, Billy; unharness; lead your bosses by 
me ; take off your wheels ; throw your old cart up agin 
the side of the mountain, and Fll go round you." All 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

Hank did was to come and look at the space with a 
Hghted match or two and tell our driver to stand on 
our upturned wagon and whistle. Then, with the 
aid of a little starlight, he drove his four-horse team 
and freight wagon around us, death yawning a thou- 
sand feet below, and only inches to spare. It was 
a chance, but Hank had the guts to take it. 

When I first saw "Joe" Bradley we were all lined 
up at the old Florence House Bar, drinking near- 
beer, or what was then perhaps nearer than now. 
I say we, but Joe took a cigar. He was a small 
man, both short and slight, and if one were looking 
for protection Joe would be one's last likely choice. 
We chatted together quite a while. He was mild- 
spoken and unassuming; there was a sort of gentle- 
ness about him, particularly in his eyes, which gave 
one the impression that he was just an every-day, 
modest good fellow. As we walked away, my friend 
said: "I am glad you met Joe. He is the 'nerviest' 
man in Montana. He runs a train into the Coeur 
D'Alene district, with a tough gang all along the 
run, and they all eat out of his hand." 

A few days later I had occasion to go up into the 
Coeur D'Alene country on Joe's train, which made 
the round trip daily. It was through that wonder- 
ful St, Regis River country, wilder than nature itself, 
where the trout leap in the white waters, and hide 
in dark pools. As we came into the wilder parts 
the only stations were mining camps. There had 

[178] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

been a strike in the mines; the men were visiting the 
different camps, in which "booze" flowed pretty 
freely. Between stations Joe and I had been sitting 
in a double seat, smoking and chatting. I faced 
the front of the car. He came into the front door 
after leaving a station, and was about half-way down 
the aisle taking his fares when a shot rang out a few 
seats in front of him. I happened to be looking at 
him. The change in him was incredible. He seemed 
to lengthen and broaden, and those gentle eyes had 
a gleam in them like that of a tiger cat. Joe moved 
so rapidly that he seemed to be at the seat where the 
shot was fired without moving. He was calm as 
death itself. His voice was steady and unraised, 
but there was a chill in it as he said, "What are you 
shooting at?" "Nothin'," came the reply; "just see- 
ing if I could shoot through the roof and make you 
jump." "Ticket," said Joe. The shooter passed up 
to him the ace of spades. Again I didn't see Joe 
move, but the tough straightened out: the butt-end 
of a forty-four had stunned him. Then, backing 
himself up against the car, Joe said: "This is Joe 
Bradley's train ; is there anyone else here wants to 
try to run It?" 

I am aot going to believe In mild eyes again. 
Joe's were searchlights, and by some sort of fas- 
cination every eye in the car looked into his, and 
there were no takers. Joe called for a cup of water, 
a little of which he dashed into the stunned man's 

[179] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

face; then, as he came too, carefully washed the 
ugly wound. Joe's eyes had gone soft again, a 
little smile played about his mouth as he propped 
the hurt man up into a comfortable position, and 
said, "Partner, you must be a new-comer; one of 
those hellraisers from the Leadville trouble. This 
is Joe Bradley's train — 'the Bradley special' for 
everybody who wants to behave hisself, and it's the 
Bradley funeral train for them that don't. Tickets!" 
and they came up promptly. 

When we were chatting again I said, "Joe, how 
often do these things occur?" He smiled that mild- 
mannered smile again as the answer came, "Not 
often — just when trouble-makers come in; but that's 
the first one I ever really hurt; I usually just break 
an arm with the butt of my gun. I have never had 
to fire a shot." 

Going across the continent thirty years ago, as 
I reached Spokane, friends began to ask If I had 
met Fred R. Reed. For a week or more on my 
way up the coast friends asked the same question. 
At Tacoma I got In about lo p. m. As I walked 
up to the register In a hotel a tall, muscular fellow 
was chatting with the clerk. The register was slightly 
turned as I wrote, and the big fellow said, "For 
God's sake, are you Frank Hastings? All of our 
friends have been trying to get us together; I am 
Fred Reed." A friendship thereupon began which 
has lasted through the years. He was then work- 

[i8o] 



A RANCHMAN^S RECOLLECTIONS 

Ing on a great irrigation scheme at Prosser, Wash., 
now a town of several thousand, but then just a 
wide place in the road. He was fifteen or twenty 
years before his time. The whole Yakima district 
is now a great wheatfield or fruit orchard. Reed 
was in every way an unusual man ; a brilliant writer, 
a forceful speaker, a ready wit, and a charming com- 
panion. He had worked as commissariat in the 
railroad camps of the Northern Pacific during the 
building of the line. Later, when the Prosser bub- 
ble burst, he took to the mountains, and two stories 
that he told me when we last met some years ago are 
so typical of the west that I wish to make them a 
part of my sketch. 

In all former frontier types I have touched upon 
men widely known. This chapter deals only with 
those known but little, and it is to the thought of 
what the frontier does in moulding types that I want 
to lead my readers. Zane Grey in a vivid story of 
the U. P. Trail has made a composite picture of 
early-day railroad camps, which in these days it is 
difficult to believe possible, and yet in all its lurid 
detail it was probably toned down to be printable. 
Fred Reed saw the drama during the building of 
the Northern Pacific, and I have seen it In the new 
mining camps, just as Bret Harte, saw it in the gold 
rushes of his day, and Jack London saw it in the 
Yukon. Fred called his story, "Our Funeral," and 
told it as follows, in his graphic way: 

[ i8i ] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

In addition to my camp duties I occupied the exalted 
job of justice of the peace. Now a J. P. in those days in 
Montana was a bigger man than the Chief Justice of the 
United States today. He had a perpetual variety entertain- 
ment. He married people, buried the dead, put out fires, 
took a drink with everybody, refereed dog, rooster and prize 
fights, and settled family rows. In fact, he did everything 
but stork work. He was called judge, but if he made a 
wrong decision his name was Dennis. One cold morning a 
bunch of gamblers waited on me, and said one of the girls 
in the red-light district had died in the night. Her's was a 
pitiful story. She was an educated, refined girl, who had 
married a scoundrel, who in turn deserted her in a mining 
camp, and the rest followed, even to the empty morphine 
bottle clasped in her cold, dead hand. I don't want to 
uphold the gambler, but you know the west, and that some 
of the best men in it are or have been straight gamblers. I 
have never been more touched than by the appeal of these 
men. One of them said, "Judge, you know it wasn't her 
fault; she just got her money on a dead card, and a crooked 
dealer took it down. Help us give her a funeral just like 
what she'd have at home, and, judge, we want you to say 
a prayer." 

I shall never forget that gathering. The clean and the 
unclean, the bad man and the good man all stood together 
by that little grave in the frozen ground, and seemed to 
huddle together as by some human impulse, caste forgotten. 
A single white geranium had been pinned upon her breast 
by some Christ-loving woman, and it seemed to say to all, 
"Her sins shall be made white as snow." I choked on the 
first few words, and then it seemed as though a voice in my 
heart was speaking, and I heard it say: "Oh, God, here, amid 
the rocks and the pines, with the awful stillness of the moun- 
tains until the last da)^ we are laying away all that is mortal 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

of a poor, tired little girl. Her soul is on its way to kneel 
at mercy's feet. Take her, O Lord, into Your arms; wash 
away the scars and bruises of a child more sinned against 
than sinning. Teach us Thy mercy ; forgive her, and help us, 
for Jesus' sake." 

Through my own blurred eyes I could see that they were 
all weeping, and one by one they dropped on their knees to 
the last man in silent prayer; then, without a word, they 
filed away. It was a quiet night in camp; every place of 
business, every saloon, every gambling house, every brothel 
being closed. 

Another Reed story Illustrates so vividly the lone- 
liness of the mountains In which many men have 
lived alone, or with a dog, that I am sure It Is worth 
reproduction. During one of our meetings I said, 
"Fred, don't you get awful lonely sometimes?" 
"Lonely?" he replied, "I avoid It all I can, though 
sometimes It has to be done; but the most terrible 
experience that I ever had was after my dog Prunes 
went out. I was camping near the Snake River 
In Idaho, In charge of a bunch of cattle. My camp 
was remote, and the only companion I had was a 
cayuse dog, an ugly brlndle, white-eye cur; but he 
was loyal and true blue. I loved him and he loved 
me. I called him Prunes, because once, when I went 
for chuck and left him to guard camp, I was detained 
by a storm, and he ate all the prunes. He had his 
choice between salt and prunes, and he took prunes. 
Anyone who has lived alone, miles from a settlement, 
will understand why I loved Prunes. He slept with 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

me, ate with me, and for five months was my sole 
chum and confidential friend, I told him all my hopes 
and fears, my victories and failures; he would grin 
and wag his tail as much as to say, 'You are all right, 
and I believe in you.' Grub was getting scarce, that 
is, fresh meat, and I decided with Prunes at my heels 
to go out and kill a jack rabbit. We had not gone 
more than 200 yards from the house when I got my 
first rabbit, and then, walking along rapidly, as dusk 
was coming on, I saw what I took to be another rab- 
bit about forty feet away, and fired. I heard a howl 
of pain and anguish, and Prunes was done for, and 
I was alone. I hfted him in my arms, carried him 
to the cabin, laid him down, sat down beside him, and 
cried. How still it was ! I have been lonely before 
and since, but that night was the longest, most lone- 
some and the dreariest that I have ever spent. I 
dug a grave by the doorstep the next morning, but 
I just couldn't stay. I loved him, he loved me, and 
trusted me, and I had killed him. I have been offered 
lots of fine dogs since, but have never accepted one. 
I guess my heart is out there in the sagebrush with 
Prunes." 



[184] 



CHAPTER XX 

"grubb, the potato king" 

IN MY home we are never quite so happy as on 
the days when we have baked potatoes, done to 
a mealy nicety, broken open, treated with a great 
chunk of butter, and served piping hot. Then my 
wife says, "That's all we are going to have today 
except pie, but there are plenty of pies." On those 
days we always add to our simple little grace, "And 
O Lord, please bless Eugene Grubb." I suppose that 
most people think of Mr. Grubb immediately as "the 
potato king" — the man who knows more about pota- 
toes and has done more for potatoes than any one 
else in the world. When a man comes to be the best 
authority in the world on anything, from picking 
a time lock to saving a human soul, it means that he 
has had lots of competition, done a lot of thinking 
and hard work, and has not been In the vacuum class 
as to brain. Most men, however, are specialists. 
Perhaps Pope was right, as to the average, in his 
lines — 

One science only will one Genius fit, 
So wide is art, so narrow human wit. 

But Pope missed It as to the great big-brained men 
whose lives have been broadened out into many ave- 

[185] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

nues of achievement, and he missed Eugene H. 
Grubb by a wide margin. 

Elbert Hubbard, who went down in the ill-fated 
Lusitania,.\th from his gifted pen a sketch of Eugene 
Grubb which is among the best biographical classics 
of recent years. In it he reviews the crucible in 
which the Grubb character was formed, the forge in 
which it was hammered out from the humble Penn- 
sylvania Dutch farm to the meeting of Kings and 
Emperors, while making a report for the United 
States Department of Agriculture upon the com- 
parative farming of Europe and America. The un- 
dercurrent of the work in blacksmith shops, on canals, 
rivers, derricks and farming was this: "This thing 
can be done, and must be well done." 

It is my purpose in this sketch to go into the more 
intimate and human side of this outstanding Amer- 
ican. I first met Mr. Grubb at the International In 
Chicago in 1904. I had known of him and his work, 
of his Colorado Shorthorns, and of his constructive 
methods in everything that he undertook for years ; 
but this was my first personal contact with him. He 
had been showing an unusual load of two-year-old 
feeder Shorthorn steers at the St. Louis World's Fair, 
winning the grand championship at a time when there 
was real com.petition in the feeder classes at all the 
great cattle shows. I think that the highest compli- 
ment that I can pay his load of steers is to say that 
they looked like the sort of steers that Grubb would 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

produce; they were "dandies." We were showing 
S. M. S. feeder calves. Since it was in the days when 
we reserved the right to pick a show load, we had 
gone the limit, and knew that they were good. I 
took one of our men with me over the show pens to 
look at what we had to go against in the sweep- 
stakes if we won in our class. When we reached 
the Grubb steers I said, "Here is where we die." A 
man stepped up to me and said, "I think that we 
know each other; I am 'Gene' Grubb." 

Personalities are dominant; this was a personality. 
He was tall and well-made, with "the head and front 
of Jove himself," a face beaming with that quality 
which made "Ben Adhem's name lead all the rest," 
the love of his fellow-men was written like a scroll 
upon his countenance, justice and fairness flowed 
from eyes set wide below a high forehead, and the 
square jaw told that this man would go to the last 
ditch. His voice had the quality of magnetism; it 
was soft and clear, and full of friendliness as he 
invited us in to "feel" the steers. 

From his pens we went to our own, and he did me 
the compliment to talk more with my companion, 
who, he realized, had been vital In handling them, 
than he talked with me. So began a friendship 
which has stood the test of time, and brought to me, 
written on last Christmas day from his den In Butte 
City, Calif., where he now spends most of his time, 
a beautiful letter, graciously reviewing our first meet- 

[187] . 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

ing, and the turning of the tide to young feeders. 

That was an historic event. John G. Imboden was 
the judge. He gave us first in our district over some 
classy L. S. calves. He gave "Gene" Grubb first in 
his district on the twos (Shorthorns), and gave us 
the grand championship. It will be recalled that in 
the fat classes only threes (steers) had a look-in for 
the grand championship in the early days of the 
International; then it fell to twos, and today only 
yearlings seem to have much of a chance. I stood by 
our pens almost stunned to have beaten the mag- 
nificent Grubb two-year-olds, and looked up to see 
their owner rapidly approaching. His face beamed; 
he took my hand in a regular Methodist squeeze, 
slapped me on the back with the other, and said, 
"With all my heart, old man, I congratulate you. It 
was a just decision and a deserved victory." There 
was not a trace of disappointment in his attitude. To 
all his friends he said, "They won on their merits. 
If I had been judging the cattle myself I should have 
placed the ribbon the same way." 

I do not think that John Imboden has ever been in 
a harder place. He had two perfect loads in dif- 
ferent classes to pass on, and I have always felt that 
his decision was made on his early recognition of 
the drift to younger cattle. But what of Grubb, who 
lost in what seemed a foregone conclusion? A good 
loser, a sport like that, is real, and he writes his own 
character in letters that "he who runs may read." 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

Eric Swenson, my beloved young friend, who died 
in Colorado Springs last February, visited Mr, Grubb 
at Mt. Sopris many years ago. A story of that visit 
is another sidelight on the simple traits of fairness 
and humanity in the lives of these worth-while men. 
They had been knocking about over the country, and 
stopped at a httle town. A crowd had gathered about 
a blacksmith shop, and a justice of the peace was try- 
ing for his life a dog suspected of sheep-killing. Eric 
and "Gene" were attracted, and found that it was a 
case of strong circumstantial evidence, and that the 
dog had neglected to retain an attorney; nor had the 
judge appointed any one to defend him, and things 
were going bad. "Gene" asked to be permitted to 
defend the dog. "Gene" does not know it himself, 
but those who have heard him lecture or speak know 
that when he unloosens himself he is eloquent, and 
Eric said that "he sure unloosened" on this occasion. 
His plea for humanity, his tribute to the dog in the 
abstract as man's companion and friend, rivaled the 
late Senator George G. Vest's classic. He carried the 
house by storm, obtained another chance for the dog, 
had a guardian appointed for him, and helped wash 
up the crowd, which had melted into tears. 

Is it not beautiful that really great men are simple 
men, with the fear of God and the love of their 
felloW-men and dogs in their hearts? Which would 
you prefer, to have your name go down as the owner 
of great riches, or to be remembered like that of 

[189] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

Thoreau, or John Burroughs or Eugene Grubb, when 
his day shall come ? Somehow the memories of those 
who have worked in the great outdoors will carry the 
perfume of the flowers, the song of birds, the low 
whispering of the breeze, the soft patter of the rain, 
the rustle of the trees and the murmur of the brook 
longer than those who have grown great and given 
much to the world from within closed walls. 



[190] 



CHAPTER XXI 

REFRIGERATION AND BY-PRODUCTS 

I HAVE received many Interesting letters contain- 
ing extended information on several subjects that 
I have touched. I had intended to devote a chapter 
to a sort of jack-pot condensation of this correspond- 
ence, but the book is drawing to a close, and my ranch 
work Is coming so fast that I shall only take space for 
refrigeration. In an early chapter I promised to try 
to get data as to refrigeration at Denlson, Tex., long 
before It seems to have been used by what are now 
the "great packers." Data have come to me through 
Warren V. Galbreath, general live stock agent of the 
Missouri, Kansas & Texas Railroad. He began his 
cattle experience as foreman of feeding stations thirty 
years ago. I have quoted from the best data that 
KIngan & Co., Indianapolis, in 1885 used the first 
mechanical refrigeration, and, so far as I know, that 
stands as applied to the use of cold air pumped 
through a plant. The use in packing houses of 
mechanical Ice, however, as a substitute for natural 
ice antedates the cold air process by probably twelve 
years, and apparently found its earliest use in the 
south. Its first application to the packing industry 
seems to have been at Denlson, Tex. 

[191] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

It is especially interesting to quote P. H. Tobin, 
manager of the Crystal Ice Co., Denison, Tex., con- 
cerning what appears to have been a well-defined 
attempt to start a packinghouse near the source of 
supply in 1874. With him I was put in touch by 
Warren V. Galbreath. From several letters received 
from Mr. Tobin I quote : 

In the early '70s — 1874 or 1875 — there was a packing- 
house at Denison; there was also a number of refrigerator 
cars, twenty-two, I think, numbered in the 6400's of the 
"Katy" (the Missouri, Kansas & Texas) railroad. They 
were all painted white, and had an icebox run in the middle 
on the top of the cars. The railroad boys feared that the 
seven crews running out of here would be reduced to one 
run a week, as we were putting from 16 to 20 slim cattle, 
all wearing horns, in a car, and the slaughtered product 
would make a big reduction. The business failed because 
there were no re-icing stations until Kansas City or St. Louis 
was reached. The packing business at Denison was started 
by T. L. Rankin and a Mr. Bushnell, who were supplying 
natural ice out of Hannibal, Mo. Mr. Rankin put in a 
little four-ton ice machine in 1876 in the Compress Building, 
and I was leased with the building. We sold ice at 5 cents 
a pound at the plant, and went "broke." Mr. Rankin was 
persistent, and came back to Denison in 1880 to erect an 
ice plant. 

Mr. Tobin also sends me a letter, written to him 
by R. S. Legate, president of the National Bank of 
Denison, from which I quote: 

I came to Denison in the fall of 1874. The Atlantic and 
Texas Refrigerator Car Co. was operating a slaughtering 

[ 192 ] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

plant here, and, for a brief period, seemed to be doing an 
extensive business. I do not remember how long it con- 
tinued, but my recollection is that it was short-lived, and the 
"big idea" upon which it was founded did not materialize. 

From the foregoing it will be seen that refrigera- 
tion in natural ice or mechanical form is the under- 
lying principle upon which the whole packinghouse 
edifice has been built, and the failure to have a few 
icing stations probably cost Texas the long wait until 
Fort Worth came into the business. Who knows 
what it may have meant to Denison and the cattle 
industry ? 

C. E. Clapp of the Pennsylvania Railroad writes 
from Chicago as follows: 

I believe it is generally conceded that the first attempt to 
transport perishable property under refrigeration was in 
1865, or ten years before the date given in your article. In 
Andreas' History of Chicago, Vol. Ill, page 602, the story 
is briefly told in the following language: "William W. 
Chandler, general agent of the Star Union Line (the pioneer 
of through freight business as now carried on), came to Chi- 
cago in June, 1864, to assume the position he still holds. 
He came from Cleveland, O., where he had been for nearly 
twelve years previously connected with the Cleveland, Pitts- 
burgh & Wheeling Railroad, nine years of that time as its 
general freight agent. In March, 1865, Mr. Chandler ob- 
tained permission of Wm. Thaw, the originator of the Star 
Union Line, and its then president, to prepare thirty cars, 
after a plan of his own, which he believed would prove suc- 
cessful, and, if so, very valuable in the shipment of butter, 
eggs, cheese, fresh meat, and other perishable commodities. 

[ 193 ] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

He called these cars ice houses on wheels, and he is unques- 
tionably the pioneer of the refrigerator car S5fstem. Mr. 
Chandler had not the foresight to patent his idea, which was 
eagerly seized upon by others." The first of the 30 cars 
was loaded in Chicago May 16, 1865, with lO tons of butter, 
consigned to Porter & Wetmore, New York City, who wrote 
that the car was a success, and that they were delighted. 
These first cars were simply box cars, which had put into 
them an inside lining of boards, which left a space between 
the new lining and the outside lining of the cars — sides, ends, 
top and bottom — and this space was filled with sawdust and 
shavings. At first a box or trough not permanently attached 
to the car was placed in the middle of the car, and filled 
with ice. A little later on troughs of this kind, or much 
like them, were placed in the ends of the car. The Penn- 
sylvania System is justly proud of its position as the pioneer 
in the transportation of perishable property under refrigera- 
tion, which has developed to an extent not even dreamed of 
by its originator. 

In my opening chapter I recorded the impression 
made upon my ten-year-old mind of the Initial use 
of distinct waste or tankage from the packinghouse 
of Whittaker & Ryan In Leavenworth, Kans., In the 
early '70's, and, by the way, years afterwards, when 
I met C. M. Favorite, one of P. D. Armour's great 
lieutenants In the Chicago office, he told me that 
he had worked for Whittaker & Ryan In those early 
days. 

It Is a story in Itself to give In detail the re- 
markable part which by-products have played In 
the packinghouse business up to the present day. I 

[194] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

shall deal with them in only a general way. Suppose 
we begin with bones. 

Even in the earliest days with dried beef hams as 
an important trade factor, bones of the most valu- 
able character went into the general pot of refuse 
to a great extent. Now they are used for keys on 
the cheaper grades of organs and pianos, for knife 
handles, buttons, ornaments and novelties of infinite 
variety. In order to indicate how thoroughly the 
whole product is used, I may say that thigh and 
shin bones are sawed, and the knuckles are used 
in glue, or crushed and ground for bonemeal, used 
as a fertihzer, or as a poultry and stock food, and 
also in the case-hardening of steel. The part be- 
tween the knuckles is far-reaching. The marrow 
is extracted and melted into an edible product; the 
bones are then cooked for neatsfoot oil and tallow, 
and then dried and sold to manufacturers for the 
purposes mentioned. 

The few fine hairs from the inside of a steer's 
ear are used to make "camel's hair" brushes. The 
use of blood is well known, but how many know of 
the product called "blood albumen"? This is made 
by allowing blood to coagulate, separating the serum 
by centrifugal force. The liquid obtained is filtered, 
decolorized, and evaporated into a dried serum. The 
final product is used as a clarifying agent in the 
manufacture of photographic paper, and to set colors 
in textile printing. During the war blood albumen 

[195] 



A RANCHMAN^S RECOLLECTIONS 

was used on the wings of aeroplanes to strengthen! 
them, and to protect them from the elements. 

I have only used a few striking illustrations. Td 
follow the subject to its finality would be to call in| 
all the trades, all the sciences, and many of the 
arts into a bewildering labyrinth of what the pack- 
er's art, for it is an art, has done in the way of 
not only saving waste to the world, cheapening the' 
edible product to the consumer, but furnishing to 
hundreds of other industries materials which haves 
made many other articles possible, and always of 
such vital use as to cheapen them to the user or! 
consumer. I 



[196] 



CHAPTER XXII 

ADVERTISING; PARTING REMARKS 

DURING my old days in the packing industry I 
often had occasion to write advertising pam- 
phlets, with some rather odd results. I recall that 
when preparing an insert folder descriptive of what 
were then in their infancy "fancy hams and break- 
fast bacon," such as all packers put out now, and 
advertise freely in newspapers and magazines, I was 
stumped for a headline quotation or strong catch- 
phrase. In many instances during my publicity work 
the same thing had occurred, and when I had ex- 
hausted all resources in search of an apt quotation 
I wrote something myself, crediting it to some dead 
author or great man, who could not come back to 
denounce me. I knew that a thing credited to some 
notable would have more force than if used as 
original, and I felt that St. Peter would not stop 
me at the Gate for it, and, if I did get by, I could 
square myself with the harp-player to whom it had 
been credited and perhaps make him believe that he 
really did write or say it. I know it was a low-down 
trick, but glance back over your own life, brother, 
and '^cast the first stone" if you have never done 
anything so bad. I heard Henry Ward Beecher 

[197] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

lecture several times, and I knew that he could not 
keep tab on everything that he said, nor could any 
of the quotation sharks, so I picked Henry, and for 
my headhhe wrote: 

There is no higher art than that which tends towards the 
improvement of human food. — Henry Ward Beecher. 

During the last few years, with spiritism and 
occult stuff coming back strong among the unin- 
formed, I have attended several seances, and had a 
"catch-as-catch-can" with ouija, impelled by a guilty 
conscience for this sort of "clep-to-quota" of mine; 
though none of those whose names have been bur- 
dened with my liberties has ever peeped. But I made 
Beecher famous in the food advertising line. Jevne 
of Chicago and Los Angeles lifted my poor little 
effort, and made it a business headline, but that was 
not the climax. When we were married my wife and 
I chose Yellowstone Park for our bridal trip, going 
via Omaha, and to start things off right I took her 
into the "swellest" restaurant for dinner. She always 
sits facing the door, to watch humanity as it pours 
in, bonnets and all. My face was towards the rear, 
and I looked twice before I was sure, but there, 
emblazoned on the back wall, in free relief above 
the orchestra stand, in letters of gold, was — • 

There is no higher art than that which tends towards the 
improvement of human food. — Henry Ward Beecher. 

[198] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

I called my wife's attention to the lines, and asked, 
"Do you know who wrote that?" She replied, "Why 
of course; don't you see Henry Ward Beecher under 
it?" Then in my most modest way I explained how 
it came about, but there was a funny little look in 
her eyes, and I suppose that together we will have 
to meet Henry to get the matter straightened out. 

Another time I was getting up a catalog for a 
sale of Herefords to be held by Kirk B. Armour, 
James A. Funkhouser and John Sparks in Kansas 
City, Mr. Sparks bringing his cattle from Nevada. 
It will be recalled that Mr. Sparks bought his basic 
stock in Missouri, and started a registered herd at 
Reno, Nev. The herd was in a way forgotten for 
a long time, until stories of Herefords all over Cali- 
fornia, Nevada, Oregon and Washington began to 
come in. There is no doubt that John Sparks' work 
was of major importance to improved breeding all 
over the extreme west and northwest. I wanted to 
convey the idea that the Missouri cattle had gone 
forth into the wilderness, and after many years re- 
turned to the land of their fathers. I felt sure that 
I would find what I wanted in "Kings," because I 
especially wanted to credit it to some book in the 
bible by chapter and verse. I searched in vain. I 
would not, of course, credit anything I wrote to the 
bible, because there was some shame left in me, but 
I conceived a brilliant idea : it was to try to produce 
something which v»^ould have the swing of Kings 

[199] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

and express my thought, and to put quotation marks 
about it, without crediting it to anyone. I worked 
several days on it, finally getting something which 
sounded all right, and then I had another brilliant 
idea: I would try it on some bible student, and see 
if it would go by. I chose Mrs. Hastings' mother, 
a clever bible student, and one of the sweetest, 
dearest women whom I have ever known. I loved 
her next to my own mother, and felt a little guilty 
about trying my product on her, but she was a good 
sport, so I said, "I cannot find this In the bible; 
can you tell me what book it is from?" Without any 
hesitation she said, "It is from Kings; I will find it 
for you." I let it go at that, but she hunted Kings 
and the concordance diligently before I 'fessed up 
to the whole plot. John Reld, in charge of our 
Foreign Department, was also a bible student, so I 
tried It out on him, being careful to begin with, 
"I cannot find this In the bible." Offhand he re- 
plied, "It is from Kings." The next day he told me 
that he had spent several hours trying to find it, 
and again I had to 'fess up. 

I have never consciously been guilty of plagiarism 
and In writing I am careful in the use of quotation 
marks, but it is strange how quotations, particularly 
long ones, In the spoken word and properly credited 
before being used, are accepted so often as original. 
When the old National Live Stock Association held 
a meeting in Kansas City about twenty-five years 

[200] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

ago its programme committee asked the packers to 
select someone to reply to the toast, "The Packers," 
at a wonderful banquet given at the Midland Hotel. 
I was the victim. That wonderfully gifted lawyer 
Gardner Lathrop was to preside. The list of speak- 
ers got me into a good deal faster company than I 
needed, so I brushed up as best I could, and in 
linking up the packing and range ends used Senator 
Ingalls' beautiful prose poem on "Grass," distinctly 
crediting him with its authorship. The next day 
one of my friends said to me, "I liked your address, 
particularly your wonderful tribute to grass." Here 
comes your chance, dear reader, for a close decision. 
Did I tell him whose it was or did I figure that he 
ought to have known better — certainly should have 
listened more closely — and let it go at that? There 
are no prizes in this guessing contest. Suppose you 
hold the glass up to human vanity, and tell what you 
would have done. 

With the Holiday Number of The Breeder's 
Gazette, my wanderings in memory's world 
will come to an end in a little story which 
wX)uld be marred by my adding personal com- 
ment. I cannot go back to private life, however, 
without thanking The Breeder's Gazette's read- 
ers for their generous attention, as evidenced by a 
mass of letters which I have received from unex- 
pected sources, as well as from old friends, whom I 
have not heard from for years. One of these letters 

[201] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

— it is from Henry Bonner of Indiana — establishes 
my truthfulness. He writes: "I have just read your 
story about old Curlew, the horse that killed Johnny 
McDuff. I remember the day he pitched with you 
when you tried to tie the white handkerchief round 
your neck, when I was looking at cattle on the Tongue 
River Ranch." It seems odd that as I write of his 
letter I am sitting in the shade of a Ford car on 
Tongue River Ranch, near where Curlew pitched, 
waiting for a bunch of cattle that the boys are bring- 
ing up to the shipping pens. In fact, most of these 
stories have been written on trains, or while waiting 
about the ranches. It has been a great privilege to 
write them for The Breeder's Gazette, because 
the backward look has found many things not written 
down which I have chatted about with men who have 
long been with us, and, in turn, their own minds 
take the backward vision, recalling some stirring 
things that we have been through together. I have 
a letter from F. D. Coburn, "Coburn of Kansas," 
which I am putting away in my treasure chest. It is 
too generous to quote from, but if my little effort 
had done no more than bring me Mr. Coburn's let- 
ter I should feel that I had been richly repaid. I 
am deeply grateful to the hundreds of others who by 
spoken word or letter have indulged in kindly com- 
ment. There has always been for me the sweetest 
sort of affection in James Whitcomb Riley's words: 
Good-bye, Jim; take keer o' yourself. 
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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

In waving my hand from the rear platform of 
the train which is leaving my good friends in 
The Breeder's Gazette "family," and taking me back 
to the cattle, the horses, the boys, the birds, the flowers 
and the silent vastness of the great pastures, I can 
think of no sweeter thought than in paraphrasing 
Riley — "Good-bye, reader; take keer o' yourself." 



[203] 



CHAPTER XXIII 

THE LOST CHILD 

EVERYONE who has lived on the frontier has 
r probably taken part in hunting for lost chil- 
dren. In my own experience and observation the 
terror, the panic, the tireless zeal, the whole-hearted 
participation by whole communities are vivid recol- 
lections, and as a part of them the never-ceasing 
wonder at the almost impossible distances children 
will stray. The natural tendency of an exhausted 
child to lie down and fall asleep, together with the 
usual discovery about dusk that the child is missing, 
and the natural profoundness of a child's sleep, ex- 
plain to some extent the difficulty of locating it in 
vast areas, with a belated start, and no trail in the 
darkness to indicate even the direction that it has 
taken. Shouting by hunters until they are too hoarse 
to shout is always a part of the hunt; dogs are always 
used, and individual stories of their work are tra- 
ditions over the whole frontier. 

It is one thing for a child to stray in a city, where 
its sobs attract quick attention; it is an entirely 
different thing when one wanders off into a great 
expanse, where there are no houses for miles. I 
have never heard of a child in this country being 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

harmed by a coyote or bitten by a rattler when lost; 
but those menaces, imagined or real, are the first to 
come into the mind when a child has strayed, just 
as a woman grabs her skirts or climbs upon a chair 
with the first suggestion of a mouse. The people 
and the incidents in this story are real, but In draw- 
ing the sketch I have made It composite as to the 
lost child terror In sparsely-settled districts, and no 
amount of dressing can exaggerate instances which 
have come to my personal notice; In fact, I have 
toned down the dramatic traglcality which Is a part 
of every Instance. The telephone, prevalent now In 
rural districts, has helped the situation, but It Is a 
terror to operators who after the first alarm reply 
to every ring, "No, he has not been found;" or, "Yes, 
they have found him." It was strange how, before 
the rural system was installed, that which all people 
on the frontier know as the "grapevine" phone car- 
ried the news of "lost child" Into great distances. 
This method of communication, which no one has 
been able to explain, carried news with startling 
rapidity. 

Little "Curley" McNutt is still a character with 
us, now seven years old. His imagination is vivid. 
His laugh and grin, and his habit of saying unex- 
pected things at inopportune times are all still In 
vogue. I saw him last Sunday, and we had our 
usual big talk. He was much excited over an air 
rifle; he has two wonderful "wolf" dogs (really 

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A RANCHMAN^S RECOLLECTIONS 

harmless Collies), and their combined kill of imagi- 
nary coyotes promises to be big the coming winter. 
He told me some fantastic tales, and at the close 
added, "Every time one of us tells a big one, Mac 
(the name by which he calls his father) tells one 
a whole lot bigger. He sure is a windy." So per- 
haps Curley is a victim of heredity. It has just 
struck me as amusing that local color is not wanting 
as I scribble, because I am writing in the caboose 
of a stock train moving through a big pasture coun- 
try. Just now, while we stopped for water, the 
"ki-yi" of the coyote's discord sounded off in the 
mesquite. I wonder whether the cry is striking 
terror to the heart of some mother whose baby may 
have strayed. There are no hoarse shouts, no 
ghostly riders in the pale moonlight, and that strange 
Providence that finds the lost ones when they stray 
is watching over the tired little boys and girls, fast 
asleep, straying perhaps with Peter Pan in his 
frolics. 

Curley McNutt was at the time of this incident 
four years old, a round-faced, flaxen-haired, sturdy 
little fellow, wearing a perpetual grin. He had a 
habit of repeating what he heard one say, prefacing 
it by a short laugh. All ranch children make warm 
friendships, which often amount to idolatry among 
cowboys, who in turn have an absorbing love for 
children. This love sometimes drifts into a sort of 
slavery. 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

The "doghouse," a classic title which the boys 
have bestowed on their home, the bunkhouse, is a 
point of absorbing interest for all ranch children. 
Here they are teased and petted and properly 
spoiled; no fence, latched door or set of material 
regulations and no amount of punishment are effect- 
ive in keeping children away from the "doghouse;" 
after they begin to toddle, and commonly, long be- 
fore that period they are carried there by the boys 
to learn the delights, the privileges, and their own 
power of tyranny. 

I have said some pleasant things about cowboys 
in this series, but candor and a desire to be truthful 
force me to admit that often, in the moral and in- 
tellectual environment of the "doghouse," a child 
may pick up some chance word or expression which 
is not strictly good form. I have known of that 
possibility, however, in more effete circles — after- 
noon teas and ladies' bridge clubs, for instance, and 
even Sunday school. But I have never known a 
cowboy deliberately to teach a child to "cuss." Any 
one who has had much to do with handling cattle 
knows that at times there is no other outlet than a 
little mild profanity. I have even fallen into it 
myself, in distressing circumstances, and once I heard 
a preacher swear. 

Curley often had his mouth washed with good 
clean home-made soap for bringing certain gems 
Into the family circle after prolonged visits to the 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

"doghouse." He had a habit, too, of repeating som^ 
inoffensive phrases which, falling in the wrong placej 
.were sometimes disastrous. I recall an incident 
which was only saved by the common-sense, the in^ 
finite good nature and sense of humor of the victim.; 
When Curley was allowed to help himself at the| 
ranch mess table one of the boys would say, "Don't 
take it all" — a comment which Curley soon learned 
to make when cowboys took a helping. It was 
sometimes a wise admonition, as any one who hasi 
lived around a cowcamp knows. I 

I took a buyer of goodly quantities and his wlfel 
to the Tongue River Ranch. Both were charming.j 
They had brought their outdoor appetites with them. 
Mrs. McNutt is one of the best cooks I have ever 
known, on or off the ranch, and the supper that 
night was one of her best triumphs. We had ridden 
100 miles that day over rough country with Mr. 
Ford, and were ready. The lady had "thrown in" 
with Curley before supper, and he had to sit by her. 
The first helping "got by," but when the lady came 
up for a second one Curley was primed, and out of 
the stillness which prevails generally at an Indoor 
cowboy mess table came his high, clear voice with 
"Don't take it all." For a second the spoon poised 
in mid-air; the cowboys, appalled by their tutor- 
ship, were tense; then followed the merry, ringing 
laugh of a splendid woman, as the spoon descended 
to Its mission and she said, "All right, Curley; but 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

you and I must get our share before the cowboys 
'take it air." 

Curley's father and mother had charge of the 
S. M. S. headquarters messhouse on the Tongue 
River Ranch. The great part of "Mac's" time was 
taken up with near-by line or pasture riding, leaving 
the mother and boy often alone for much of the 
day with the cow outfit off on its work. Curley 
always thought of the "doghouse" as the objective 
when he could make his "getaway"; but when he 
could find no one there he had a habit of striking 
out straight into the pasture, in all Its uninhabited 
immensity, and several times had wandered some 
distance, giving his mother much anxiety; but she 
felt perfectly easy when any of the boys were about. 
"Old Jack," a cross between wolfhound and grey- 
hound, has gone to his fathers; but he is still a 
tradition on the S. M. S. Ranch. He followed the 
Tongue River chuck wagon for ten years, with some 
memorable coyote encounters. He was often away 
with the wagon for weeks; sometimes he would let 
it go away without him, and then unerringly locate 
it in some remote part of the pasture or sometimes 
he would leave it and come to headquarters, evidently 
to see Curley. They were great "pals," and so 
close was the companionship between them that it 
was hard to tell which had the more fleas. They 
ate out of the same plate, when the chuck wagon was 
at headquarters, and Jack always played fair. 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

Late one afternoon Mrs. McNutt saw some cow- 
boys ride in, and supposed that they were at the 
bunkhouse. Curley disappeared soon after. She 
saw him making for the bunkhouse, and thought he 
was safe for the rest of the day, but did not know 
then the boys had passed through and gone on some 
special mission. It was in May. Copious rains had 
fallen all spring; the growth of vegetation was 
prolific everywhere, almost rank. No one who has 
not seen a west Texas landscape, after a wet spring, 
can form any idea of how the growth would obscure 
a child walking in it. While it is not a part of my 
story, I should like to add that no one who has not 
seen it can conceive of the wonderful floral beauty 
of the country. There are vast expanses of chrome- 
yellow, clear to the horizon, variegated here and 
there by acres of soft lavender, or brilliant purple, 
looking in the great vista like a single vivid flower 
of contrast pinned to a woman's dress. As one 
studies more intimately the carpet of color at one's 
feet, one sees a riot of white and yellow primroses 
and daisies; the deep rich wine-tint of wild holly- 
hock; the blue of larkspur and star daisy; and the 
magenta of wild verbena. One is lost in the wonder 
of nature's flower show, held way off in the wilds, 
with God's love for its reward. I have never been 
entirely in sympathy with the beautiful lines — 

Full many a flower Is born to blush unseen, 
And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

I watch the grass birds as they nest In the profu- 
sion of beauty, and the bees as they gather honey. 
The perfume of flowers and grass, as vagrant breezes 
drift It here and there, must be a joy to every hving 
thing. 

Supper on the ranch usually comes at dusk. The 
bell rang, and the boys In their silent way drifted 
Into the messroom, but there was no childish voice. 
The mother appeared In the kitchen door with the 
query, "Where Is Curley?" No one knew; no one 
had seen him. Then a face went white, followed by 
solemn-vlsaged cowboy faces that through their 
bronze grew even whiter. Supper was forgotten. 
Every man dashed for his night horse. The disci- 
pline of the ranch came quickly; a silent mounted 
group drew round the strawboss; there were quick, 
clear orders as to districts a^nd signals. Then "Molly" 
O'Hare, the horse wrangler, Curley's slave, said, 
"Call Jack; he can find him." Some one called, but 
Jack did not answer. Then there was a shout of joy, 
"Jack Is with him; he Is safe." 

As the band rode off there came the first sharp, 
shrill "kl-yl" of the coyotes. One makes enough 
noise for a pack. To the lost child hunters there 
seemed to be thousands of coyotes. From every di- 
rection they seemed closing In. It was as If thou- 
sands were sounding their hungry call on the night 
air. Was Jack with Curley? Jack was getting old. 
How long could he fight off the coyotes? Would 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

one get Curley while Jack fought the others? Would 
Curley step on a rattler and be bitten? 

All the frenzied fancy of human love alarmed 
marched in hideous phantasy before them as they 
searched. From hill and dale came the peculiar 
rounding cry of the cowboy, but there was no sig- 
nal. They rode carefully and closely covering the 
ground. Hushed voices answered hushed voices as 
they crossed on the hunt. The night was clear, but 
dark; the moon was not yet up. The coyote chorus 
grew louder ; they seemed to be gathering from afar, 
and "Molly" O'Hare, riding alone, cried in the 
agony of his heart, "O God, if I only knowed how 
to pray I'd tell you to take me and let Curley stay; 
I'd tell you that there ain't nothing you could tell 
me to do that would be too much; I'd — " 

Then out of the stillness of the night came a dif- 
ferent note; a note that said, "I am here;" a note 
that said, "All is well;" a note that said, "I do not 
fear." It was the long-drawn-out bay of the wolf- 
hound's answering call. It halted a dozen riders; 
they waited to hear it once more, and it came clear 
and sure, "All is well; we are here." It jarred the 
stillness with its wave of triumph. 

The moon came slowly up as a frenzied bunch of 
riders on horses which knew something was wrong 
broke into a killing run. "Molly" O'Hare was the 
first man In; Curley lay stretched out on a mat of 
wild flowers, fast asleep. His little shoes were worn 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

through, his blouse and knickers ragged from contact 
with catsclay bushes, his stockings hanging down, 
showing angry scratches on his little legs. Beside 
him, alert, head up, his muzzle to the wind, still 
sounding his answering note, stood Old Jack. 

With a bound "Molly" O'Hare was by their side. 
One quick caress for Jack, and Curley was in his 
arms; then, with characteristic cowboy nonchalance, 
he turned to the bunch of riders, leaning forward on 
their horses' necks in a circle about him, silent and 
indifferent as though nothing had happened, and said, 
"Oh, hell! I knowed he was all right all the time." 
Whereupon, Curley, half aroused for a moment and 
from long force of habit, repeated, "Oh, hell, I 
knowed he was all right all the time," and fell into 
another sound sleep. 

The boys with great glee told his mother of Cur- 
ley's repeating "Molly's" exclamation, but holding 
him close to her breast, tears stealing down her 
cheeks, and dropping on Curley's torn raiment, she 
said, "Poor tired baby, he was too sleepy to know 
what he said; I guess we won't wash his mouth out 
with soap this time." 



[213] 



CHAPTER XXIV 
"old gran' pa" : A "mage" story 

IT WAS early in June, 1906. The "High Boss" 
was out from New York, making his usual semi- 
annual inspection of the S. M. S. Ranches. We had 
already been over several of them, and were getting 
into the buggies to drive from Stamford to Throck- 
morton when The Breeder's Gazette man showed up, 
with only one day to give us. Those were the days 
of Hynes Ranch buggies, and "Broom Tails." 
Throckmorton iRanch was a full day's drive away; 
now Henry Ford takes us there in 2^ hours. Flat 
Top Mountain Ranch begins 5 miles west of Stam- 
ford. There was my only chance to show The Breed- 
er's Gazette man anything, so I told our party to go 
without me, and I would drive through that night in 
ample time to start on the Throckmorton inspection 
trip next morning. On the way over to Flat Top 
Ranch I stopped at headquarters, and asked Mage 
the foreman to meet me in town at 7 p. m., and we 
would drive Beauty and Black Dolly, two spanking 
mares which he had bought for me. They could take 
their 10 miles an hour steadily for hours, and I threw 
them in as a bait to tempt Mage against any local 
duty which he might urge. Mage stood 6 feet 5 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

Inches In his socks, every Inch of It cowman and 
horseman. He came to the ranches at thirteen years 
of age — a much misunderstood kid. But he had 
grown into a manhood of sweetness and strength, 
which had surrounded him with the love and respect 
of every man, woman, and child In the country. Mage 
was a dead-game sport, a rider whose skill and dar- 
ing are still traditions In the big-pasture country. His 
stories and personal reminiscences, told with rare 
humor and dramatic force, made a journey with him 
a real entertainment. I always sparred for an open- 
ing to get him going when we made drives together. 
At 7 o'clock he was on hand to the minute, talking to 
the mares as though they were human. We were 
off — "heads up and tails over the dashboard." As 
we swung Into the main thoroughfare the people on 
the street turned round to watch Mage handle the 
mares. They were having their little fun before set- 
tling to the steady distance-killing gait, and they 
were a pair to look at: Beauty a deep chestnut, both 
wilful and beautiful, and Black Dolly, with her sleek 
sable coat, still at the giddy age. Mage had the 
stage driver's trick of coming Into town or going out 
In style. The mares knew his voice and hand, and 
the light that shone in his eyes told where his heart 
was. For two hours we chatted or were silent by 
spells, as Is the habit on long drives. The moon 
came up in her soft fullness — one of those southern 
moons like the ripeness of love, a perfect heart full. 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

The cool night air was stirring caressingly, and we 
were both under the spell of it all. The mares had 
steadied down to normal. We were crossing a 
prairie near Rice Springs, once a famous roundup 
ground in the open range days. Mage raised his 
six-feet-five up in the buggy, looked all around, and, 
as he sat down, said: "This here's the place; here's 
where me an' Old Gran'pa won our first ditty." 

The moon had risen high enough to flood a great 
flat until we could see a mile or more. I saw just a 
beautiful expanse of curly mesquite grass, blending 
its vivid green with the soft silver moonlight, but 
Mage saw great crowds lined on either side of a 
straight half-mile track; two riders; the one on a mid- 
night black and the other on a speed-mad sorrel, in 
deadly contest for supremacy. The stillness of the 
night — which to me was the calm benediction of peace 
and rest — was broken for him by wild cheers as a 
boy and a sorrel horse crossed the line, victors. His 
face was tense, his eyes shone with the fire of strain 
and excitement, and then slowly he came back to the 
stillness and to the moonlight, and to me. 

I waited a minute, and asked, "What was it 
Mage?" He did not answer until we had crossed 
the flat. Then, with a little short laugh, peculiar to 
him before telling a story, he began: "As fur as 
thet's consarn it wus this away — " 

But here let me tell some true things I knew about 
Old Gran'pa. He was a famous cow pony, originally 

[216] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

known as Sorrel Stud. Mage broke him as a three- 
year-old, and had ridden him some eighteen years. 
The last few years of that time Stud had come to be 
known as Old Gran'pa. He was still alive, but had 
been turned out under good keep, winter and sum- 
mer, to end his days in peace. He was very fast, and 
was considered among the top cutting horses of his 
time. Mage's worship of this horse is only typical 
of every cowboy's love for his pet horse. But to his 
story : 

"It wus this away : We hed fenced some, but alius 
hed lots o' strays on the open range, an' Shorty 
Owen [who, by the way, stood 6 feet and 6 Inches], 
tole me early in the spring he would send me out to 
gather strays when the big round-ups begin, an' 'lowed 
I best be gettin' my plunder rounded up. That wus 
'fore you cum, but you know he wus the S. M. S. 
range boss, an' mighty nigh raised me. He tuk to 
me the day I hit the ranch. 'Kid,' he says, 'you ain't 
never hed no chanct an' I'm agoin' to giv you one.' 

"Shorty taught me to ride — hobbled my feet unter a 
three-year-ole steer onct, an' turned. him a-loose. We 
hed it roun' an roun' with the hole outfit hollerin', 
'Stay with 'im. Kid!' I stayed all right, but when 
he pitched into a bunch o' mesquites I sure Would 'a' 
left 'im if these here preachers is right 'bout 'free 
moral agency,' but them hobbles helt me back, and I 
stayed fer the benediction. Since thet time I never 
hev seed a boss I wus scart to climb on. 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

"Shorty cut Sorrel Stud out to me when he wus a 
bronc, an' said, 'Break him right, Kid; I think you 
got a cow hoss if he ain't spoilt in the breakin.' An' 
I done it without ever hittin' him a lick. As fur as 
thet's consarn, I never did hit him but onct, an' thet 
wus the time him an' me both failed, only Shorty 
said we didn't fail; we jes' went to the las' ditch. 
But thet's another story. 

"I wisht you could a-seed Sorrel Stud in his prime. 
He wus a hoss! I thought 'bout it today when you 
hed yore arms round his neck an' a-talkin' to him 
'bout me, an' I wondered if any body 'cept me could 
understan' thet Sorrel Stud and Ole Gran'pa wus the 
same hoss. But when I got up an' thumbed him, an' 
made him pitch me off jest to show you what a twen- 
ty-year-ole hoss could do, did you see the fire come 
into them eyes, an' them ears lay back? Hones' to 
God, Frank, he wus a hoss ! 

"I know I wus jest a tough kid when I come, but 
a-tween Shorty Owen an' maybe a little doin' right fer 
right's sake I tried to live an' hones' life. But they's 
two things me and St. Peter may hev to chew 'bout 
a little at the gate. You know what a fool I am 'bout 
tomatoes ? Well, onct I stole a dozen cans from the 
chuck wagon and hid 'em out in the cedar brakes. 
But the boys at the wagon hed me so plum scart 'bout 
Injuns thet I never did git to them tomatoes. Well, 
Ole Gran'pa is jest as plum a fool 'bout oats as I 
be 'bout tomatoes. I'll admit I stole this here outfit's 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

oats fer him ten years, till the High Boss wus out onct 
from New York and seed Ole Gran'pa go to a fire. 
Of course I wus up, an' he sed he guessed he could 
pay fer Gran'pa's oats the rest o' his days. Joe wus 
mighty perticular 'bout company oats. We hed to 
haul 'em 60 miles, but I think he slipped a mess to 
White Pet onct in a while hisself. I used to wait 'til 
the boys hed hit their hot rolls, then I'd slip out to 
the barn, get my big John B. full o' oats, steal to the 
corner o' the boss pasture, an' Ole Gran'pa wus alius 
waitin' fur me an' he'd never leave a stray oat to 
give us away. 

"They called me 'the S. M. S. Kid.' I wus 'bout 
sixteen. I could ride some an' I alius hed a little 
money back from my wages. So when Shorty Owen 
tole me I wus agoin' I used thet an' all I made up 
to goin' time fer an outfit. I hed a good season sad- 
dle, a Gallup; but I bought a bridle with plenty o' 
do-dads on it. Then you know my Injun likin' fer 
color: I bought a yaller swet blanket, an' a top red 
Navajo blanket fer Gran'pa. He kinda leaned to 
color too. I set up all night with Swartz an' made 
him finish a pair o' top stitched boots, an' I hed enuff 
left fer new duckin' pants, red flannel shirt, an' a 
plaid fer change, shop-made bit and spurs, both in- 
laid, a yaller silk handkerchief, a new hot roll, an' a 
twelve-doller beaver John B. Then Shorty Owen cut 
out my mount. In course I hed Sorrel Stud; he wus 
six years old, right in his prime, an' I kep' him shinin'. 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

Then there war nine more, all good ones — Blutcher, 
Alma, Polecat, Tatterslip, Bead Eye, Louscage, Pos- 
sum, Silver Dollar, an' Badger, three of 'em from 
Shorty's own mount. 

" 'Kid,' says Shorty, 'you got as good as the best o' 
'em. I wants fer you to mind thet on this here work 
you're representin' this here outfit. Keep yore head, 
an' come back with it up. But I'd bet my life on you, 
an' this here outfit is trailin' you to the las' ditch'." 

Mage's voice was getting low here, and he swal- 
lowed on the last words, paused for a moment, then 
with that laugh of his continued: "Well, I'm string- 
In' 'em out a mile here, when I ought to have 'em 
bunched. Thet wus a great summer. I worked in 
the big outfit with men an' bosses thet knowed how 
to turn a cow, an' the captain o' the round-up got to 
puttin' me an' Stud into the thick o' it purty reg'ler. 
It alius seemed thet when I rode Stud, Split Miller 
rode a little boss called Midnight, an' he sure wus a 
boss; black as midnight, 'cept fer a white star in the 
forehead, short-coupled an' quicker then forked light- 
nln'. He would cut with the bridle off, and fast? He 
was a cyclone. Every night 'roun' the camp fire 
Split kep' pickin' a load In to me 'bout the Stud. 
Onct It wus, 'Well, Kid, I seed you bed the little 
scrub out watchin' Midnight work.' Or, 'Say, Kid, 
I believe if you hed somethin' to ride you'd be a 
hand.' I swelled up some, but I 'membered what 
Shorty Owen sed, 'Keep yore head an' come back 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

with it up.' An' Split wusn't mean. He jest luved 
to josh. Two or three times the captain said, 'Split, 
let the Kid alone.' But he'd shoot one at me as he 
rode by in the work, and wus alius badgerin' me fer 
a race. 

"Then I kinda fell into watchin' Midnight run 
somethin'; an' I'd start Stud in the same direction to 
pace him. An' I cum alive ; the Stud was full as fast. 
I jest naturally supposed thet Midnight could beat 
anything, but I kep' a-tryin' an' my eyes kep' a-open- 
in'. One night Split got mighty raw, an' finally says, 
'Kid, I'll jest give you twenty dollers to run a half- 
mile race, standin' start, saddle agin saddle.* An' 
then I fergot Shorty's instructions an' los' my head. 

" 'Split,' I ses, 'you been pickin' on me ever sinct 
I cum to this here work. Me an' Stud don't need no 
twenty dollars to run you. An' even break's good 
enuff fer us, saddle fer saddle, bridle fer bridle, blan- 
ket fer blanket, spur fer spur.' 

" 'Good enuf. Kid,' ses Split, 'got enything else — 
eny money?' 

" 'No,' I ses, 'I ain't got no money, but I got sum 
damned good rags an' a new hot roll.' 

"Then the captain o' the roundup tuk a hand. 
But my blood was up, an' they put cash allowance 
on all my plunder an' I bet it 'gainst money. They 
give me $12 fer my Swartz boots, $8 fer my John B., 
$5 fer my cordaroy coat, $4 fer my shirts, an' $2 
fer my duckin's. It war Wednesday, an' the race 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

wus to be pulled off Saturday evenin', straight half- 
mile, standin' start at the pop o' a gun. The captain 
tuk the thing in charge an' sed he'd lick eny damned 
puncher thet tried to run a sandy on the Kid. It 
was all settled, but by the time I hed crawled into 
my hot roll thet night I 'membered the talk Shorty 
Owen give me. Stud wus kinda mine, but he war a 
company boss, arter all, to work on an' not fer 
racin', an' I sure wus in a jackpot fer losin' my 
head. Well, the nex day I tuk Stud off to practice fer 
a standin' start. You know how I say 'Now!' when 
I'm workin' on a boss and jest as I want him to do 
somethin'. Well, Stud he'd been trained thet a-way, 
with jest a little touch o' the spur, an' I figured to 
say 'Now!' as the gun popped an' touch him thet 
a-way, an' he got the idee. 

"Thet night I tuk him to the track an' put him 
over it four or five times. An' onct when we wus 
restin' a-tween heats I says to him, 'Stud, if me an' 
you loses this here race looks like we'd hev to steal 
off home in the night an' both o' us mighty nigh 
naked.' Everybody knocked off work Saturday. You 
know how even in them days word gits 'bout by the 
grapevine. Well, by noon they wus ridin' and 
drivin' in from all directions. The wimin folks 
brought pies and cakes. The cusey cooked up two 
sacks o' flour an' we hed to kill two beeves. Every- 
body et at the chuck wagon an' it wus sum picnic. 
I tol' the fellers not to bet on me an' Stud, but they 

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wus plenty o' money on both sides. An' a girl with 
black eyes an' hair an' jest as purty as a bran' new- 
red wagon, ses, 'Kid, if you win I'm agoin' to knit 
you sum hot roll socks.' An' Ole Pop Sellers ses, 
'Better look at them feet an' begin figurin' on yarn, 
'cause the Kid's agoin' to win.' But Split hed a girl, 
too, an' she up an' ses, 'If the Kid's dependin' on them 
there socks to keep warm he's mighty apt to git 
frost-bit this winter.' Well, you know the josh thet 
goes 'round when a big bunch o' cow people git 
together. An' they wus a plenty, until I wus plumb 
flustrated. When the time cum, a starter on a good 
boss wus to see thet we got off fair an' then ride with 
us as sort o' pace-maker an' try an' see the finish. 
But his boss wusn't in Midnight's an' Stud's class. 

"Split hed seemed to figure thet Midnight didn't 
need no trainln', he hed run so meny races an' never 
been beat. So all Split did wus saddle Midnight and 
Stan' 'round an' josh. But me an' Stud was addled, 
an' I warmed him up a bit, talkin' to him all the 
time. I wus worited 'bout urgin' him in a tight 
place. I hed played with my spurs on him, but he 
never hed been spurred in his life 'cept a signal touch 
to turn or jump. I alius carried a quirt on the horn 
o' my saddle, but 'cept to tap him in a frenly way or 
in work he hed never knowed its use. What wus I 
a-goin' to do in a pinch? I knowed he would use his 
limit under my word, but what if he didn't? Did I 
hev to hit him? If I owned this here ranch I'd hev 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

give It all to be out o' the race an' not look like a 
quitter. Well, the time wus cum. Stud hed been 
frettin' an' I wus stewln', but when we toed the line 
sumthin' funny happened : We both seemed to settle 
down an' wus as cam as this here night I jest hed 
time to give him one pat an' say, 'God A'mighty, 
Stud, I'm glad I got you,' when the starter hollered, 
'Git ready!' An' the gun popped! I yelled, 'Now!' 
at the same time, an' we wus off. 

"Midnight wus a mite the quickest, but Stud 
caught his neck In the third jump an' I belt him 
there. I wanted Midnight to lead, but kep' pushin' 
him. We didn't change a yard In the fust quarter 
an' Split yelled, 'Kid, yer holdin' out well, but I got 
to tell you farewell.' An' he hit Midnight a crack 
with his quirt. Stud heard It singin' through the air 
an' jumped like he wus hit hisself. In thirty yards 
we wus nose an' nose ; ten more, a nose ahead. Then 
I knowed we hed to go fer It. I wus ridin' high 
over his neck, spurs ready, my quirt belt high, an' 
I kep' talkin' to him an' saying, 'Good boy. Stud!' 
The crowd wus a-yellin' like demons. We wus in the 
last eighth, nose an' nose, an' I let out one o' them 
Injun yells an', 'Now, Stud! Now!' 

"It seemed like he'd been waltin' fer it. I could 
feel his heart beatin' faster. There wus a quiver 
wint through him like a man nervin' hisself fer some 
big shock. An' I could see him gainin' — slow, but 
galnin'. The crowd hed stoppt yellin'. It cum sud- 

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den. They wus so still you could hear 'em breathe. 
I guess we must a-bin three feet ahead, with a hun- 
dred yards to go. Split was a-cussin' an' spurrin', 
an' whippin'. I didn't hev no mind to yell in all thet 
stillness, I wus ready to spur, ready to whip, an' my 
heart wus a-bleedin'. I don't think now thet I could 
a-done it to win, an' I jest whispered, 'Now, Stud! 
Now! Now!' 

"I thought he wus a-runnin' a-fore, but he shot out 
like a cry o' joy when a los' child is foun'; an' we 
crossed the line a length an' a half ahead. I seed 
the black-eyed girl with her arms 'round Pop Sellers' 
neck an' a-jumpin' up an' down. Pop wus jumpin' 
' too, like a yearlin', an' the crowd wus doin' an Lijun 
dance generally. Stud didn't seem to sense the race 
wus over, an' wus still hittin' the breeze. I checked 
him in slow, pattin' him on the neck, an' talkin' to 
him like a crazy man, 'til he stood still, all a-quiver, 
his nostrils red as fire an' eyes still blazin'. Then I 
clum down an' throwed my arms 'roun' his neck and 
ses, 'God A'mighty, Stud, I didn't hev to hit you.' 
Stud's eyes seemed to softin' an' he laid his head 
down over my shoulder. I wus cryin' like a baby, 
huggin' him hard. The boys wus ridin' to us an' 
Stud raised his head an' whinnied. I guess it wus 
jest the other bosses comin', but I thought he sed, 
'Didn't we raise hell with 'em?' An' I ses, 'You bet 
we did, Stud, but it wus you done it' 

"News travels fast, an' long 'fore I got in with 

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my strays they knowed all 'bout it at headquarters. 
I kep' thinkin' 'bout what Shorty sed, 'Come back 
with yore head up,' but I hed mine down when he m.et 
me at the corral. I knowed we hadn't no bosses to 
race fer money. He looked kinda hard at my extra 
saddled boss an' roll o' plunder and ses, 'Kid, this 
ain't no racin' stable. This here Is a cow outfit, an' 
our best bosses is fer cuttin', not racin.' I didn't 
say a word, jest unsaddled an' started fer the dog- 
house, when I herd him cumin'. He caught up with 
me, grabbed me by both shoulders an' turned me 
'roun'. I saw a great big tear stealin' down his cheek, 
an' he ses, 'God A'mighty, Kid, I wisht you wus my 
boy.' Then he turned away quick an' wus gone, 
while I set down on the groun' an' blubbered in my 
ole fool way thet I hev never got over. When pay 
day cum Shorty handed me my wage check, which 
had growed sum, an' sed, 'Kid, when a boy does a 
man's work he gits a man's pay. You begin doin' a 
man's work when you went to gather them strays, an' 
you cum back the same way.' 

"Then he started to go on, but turned and sed, 
'Say, Kid, if I owned this here S. M. S. Ranch, bosses 
an' cattle, I'd a-give the whole damned outfit to a- 
seed you an' Stud cum over thet line'." 



[226] 



CHAPTER XXV 

THE SPECKLED YEARLIN* 

APRIL and May rains, followed by good grow- 
ing weather, had made everything beautiful In 
the S. M. S. pastures. The turf of curly mesquite 
grass was like a beautiful rug, painted here and there 
with wild verbena, star daisies, white and yellow 
primroses, and the myriad coloring of west Texas 
flora. Branding time was on, and the S. M. S. Flat 
Top Mountain outfit had gone into camp at Coon 
Creek Tank, to begin work the next day. 

"Scandalous John," the foreman and wagon boss, 
had been through the aggravating experience of 
getting an outfit together. It had been no trouble to 
find riders — cowboys who knew the game from start 
to finish — but to secure a cook, a "boss wrangler" 
and a hoodlum wagon driver was a problem. No one 
wants to drive the hoodlum wagon, with the duties 
of supplying wood and water for camp and branding, 
helping the cook with his dishes or other odd jobs, 
unprofessional, from a cowboy standpoint, except so 
far as they lead to a "riding job," meaning regular 
cowboy work. The "boss wrangler" was not hard 
to find, but whoever takes the job aches all the time 
to be promoted to a riding job, and is therefore dis- 

[ ^^7 ] 



A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

satisfied. The hoodlum driver had worked one day, 
and quit. Scandalous was racking his brain to know 
where to look for another, and was saddling his horse 
to hunt for one when Four-Six, one of the cowboys, 
exclaimed, "Look what's comin' !" 

Along the dim pasture road, miles from any dwell- 
ing, a figure on foot was approaching — a sight which 
always attracts attention in the big pasture country, 
since it is associated in the public mind with suspicion, 
if the footman is unknown. It often occurs that some 
one's horse will get away or give out. The rider then 
makes for the nearest cow camp to borrow a horse; 
but a man walking needs some explanation, although 
he is always fed without question. The boys were all 
quiet and indifferent, as they commonly are in a cow 
camp when a stranger approaches. 

A lad of sixteen, rather the worse for wear, clad 
in a shirt and ducking trousers, badly frayed, a soft 
felt hat, full of holes, shoes badly run-down at the 
heels, and bare toes showing through the uppers, 
stopped within ten feet of the wagon. Scandalous 
paused in his saddling to say, "Well, son, in trouble?" 

The lad's face, lit up by a broad grin, made an 
appeal to the whole outfit, and all were at attention 
for his answer. "No, I'm looking for the S. M. S. 
boss. They told me at the ranch house that he was 
here, and I'm looking for a job." 

"You look hungry, son; come eat, an' then tell us 
all about it," said Scandalous. 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

As the lad ate, and refilled his plate and cup, the 
cook ventured, "Son, you're plumb welcome, but 
when did you eat last?" 

"Night before last," the boy repHed. "The brakies 
give me some bread and meat, but I sure was gittin 
ready to eat when I smelt your grub cooking down 
the road." 

"Where be you from, son?" 

"I'm from Virginia," came the reply, "and I'm 
sure glad to get here, and get a job." 

"Virginia! A job?" exclaimed Scandalous. "How 
did you get here, an' how do you know you kin get a 
job?" 

Again that good-natured grin appeared as the lad 
told his story. 

"I walked some, and rode with the brakies some; 
they was mighty good to me, and give me a card to 
other brakies; sometimes they'd give me food they 
cooked in the caboose, and sometimes they took me 
home. I told them I was coming to the big S. M. S. 
Ranch to work. I worked on farms some, but hur- 
ried as much as I could, to be here branding time. 
Am I in time?" 

The quiet assurance of the boy staggered Scan- 
dalous, but he recovered to ask, "How did you know 
about the S. M. S. Ranch? What made you think 
you could git a job? Ever done any cow work?" 

The lad's grin broadened as he answered: "Well, 
a feller I worked for down in Virginia had one of 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

them picture books about the S. M. S. Ranch, and 1 
read where it said, 'No use to write for a job,' so I 
just cum. I kin do anything I start out to do; I 
wanted to work on a ranch ever since I was a little 
feller; I can learn to do anything you want done, 
and I sure am going to work for you." 

Scandalous blinked again, and said, "Why, son, 
we would hev' to hev' permission from your pa and 
ma, even if we had a job, 'cause you might git hurt." 

A shade of sadness swept for a moment over the 
young face; then it shone again with a new light 
of conviction. 

"I ain't got no pa or ma, I been in the orphan 
asylum until two years ago, when a fine man, the 
one with the book, took me on his farm to do chores. 
I didn't run away from him, neither; he said I was 
so crazy about comin' I'd better start. I been on 
the road so long the things he give me wore out. I 
guess I walked about a month. They told m.e in 
town to go to the office, but I was afraid they'd turn 
me down, so I cum to camp, and I'm a-going to stay 
and work for nothing." 

There is a straight path to the hearts of cowboys, 
if one knows the way, and Scandalous was glad to 
hear the chorus from the whole outfit, "Let him stay 
Scandalous. We'll help him. Give the little boy a 
job." 

"Reckon you kin drive the hoodlum wagon, 'Little 
Boy'," said John, and, like a flash, came this re- 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

sponse: "I don't know what a hoodlum wagon Is, 
but I kin drive it." 

It was settled. "Little Boy" was hired, and "made 
good." Every moment that he could get from his 
work found him in the branding pen, and, as is the 
custom with cowboys in their work, he often rode big 
calves. The boys, watching his skill, would get him 
to pull off "stunts" for visiting cowmen, until it began 
to be noised about that "Little Boy" in the S. M. S. 
outfit "was sum calf-rider." Then came the proud 
day of his life, when an older man was found for the 
hoodlum wagon. The horse wrangler was promoted 
to a riding job, and "Little Boy" to horse wrangler. 

The boys had from the outset contributed shirts 
and socks; ducking trousers had been cut off for a 
makeshift. The first month's wages had provided a 
fair outfit, including the much-coveted white shirts 
that cowboys love to have in their "war bags" for 
special occasions. Succeeding months brought saddle, 
bridle, spurs, horse blanket and a "hot roll." "Little 
Boy" was coming on, but had to content himself with 
shoes until he had all the major necessities, and could 
acquire the two grand luxuries: a $15 John B. hat 
and $35 hand-made stitched top boots. 

All through the summer "Little Boy" progressed, 
first from calves to yearlings in his play time, and 
then to outlaw broncs, until the boys in the outfit 
would say, "Thet kid sure kin ride; I'll bet he gets 
inside the money this fall at the Stamford rodeo." 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

Anything pertaining to an outlaw horse or steer 
becomes current gossip in the big pasture country, 
where horses and cattle form the basis of conversa- 
tion about the wagon after working hours. Strange 
stories drifted in about a certain outlaw speckled 
yearling on the Lazy 7 Ranch — he had thrown every 
boy with rodeo aspirations who had tried to ride him, 
and seemed to be getting better all the time. The 
"Speckled Yearling" was tall, gaunt and quick as a 
cat. He had a mixed jump and weave that got his 
men about the third jump, but the boys on the Lazy 
7 were keeping him to themselves, with a view to 
pulling off a prize "stunt" at the Stamford rodeo in 
September. All the little country towns held rodeos 
during the summer, with calf and goat roping, bronc- 
busting and steer riding, but the big event was to 
come, and the boys were getting ready for it. "Little 
Boy" had a heart-to-heart talk with his boss, and re- 
ceived permission to ride steers, and tackle the 
"Speckled Yearlin'," if opportunity permitted. 

At last the time for the great event came. Cow- 
boys from 100 miles around were on hand. Profes- 
sionals were barred. It was to be an event for boys 
who were in actual service on ranches. The S. M. S. 
headquarters office was thrown open for all, and the 
Stamford Inn pulled off an old-time cowboy dance, 
with old-fashioned "squares" called by old-time 
punchers, with old-time fiddlers doing the music. The 
weatherman had done his best; some 2,000 people 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

filled the grandstand, cheering the events of the 
first day, with now and then a call for the 
"Speckled Yearlin','' which was not mentioned in the 
programme. 

Any one who has not seen an unprofessional 
rodeo knows little of real cowboy sport, since it dif- 
fers in its wild abandon, grace and skill from the 
staged events. As each favored son came on for his 
"stunt," he was cheered to the echo, and usually 
he pulled some original antic which sent the crowd 
wild. 

The announcer, riding before the grandstand, 
waved for silence. "Listen, people: I want you to 
hear this ; it's a surprise, and the big event. No one 
has ever been able to stay ten jumps on the 'Speckled 
Yearlin',' from the Lazy 7 Ranch. Nig Clary will 
now 'ride at' the Speckled Yearlin' on his own risk: 
A $50 prize if he stays on; a $25 forfeit if he gets 
throwed. If he rides him down, a hat collection will 
be took. If Nig can't ride him some other feller 
gets a chance tomorrow." 

"If Nig can't nobody kin," shouted the grand- 
stand. "Turn him a-loose." A wave from the 
judges' hands, and, like the cutting off of an electric 
current, all was still and tense. Then from the 
mounting chute shot the "Speckled Yearlin'," with 
Nig Clary up, clinging by two hand-holds to a sur- 
cingle and riding bare-back. The yearling was dead- 
red, with distinct white speckles about the size of 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

one's thumb distributed well over his body. He 
carried long, sharp horns ; his back was on the order 
of an Arkansas razorback hog. When it came to 
jumping and weaving his body at the same time, the 
"Speckled Yearlin' " was the limit. 

Nig sat straight for three jumps, began to wabble 
in the fourth, and was on the ground at the fifth. 
Still jumping, the yearhn' turned and made for him, 
giving Nig only time by a scratch to climb up behind 
one of the judges. 

The second day found "Little Boy" and Scandalous 
with their heads together. "I know I kin ride him, 
John, an' I sure want that prize money for my boots 
an' my John B. They's all I'm needin' to be a real 
cowboy." 

"Yes, I know," said John, "but we're needin' live 
cowboys, an' I ain't feelin' right 'bout your tryin' thet 
yearlin'. I'll hev to ask you to waive all blame fer 
the company, an' if you do git hurt they'll be blamin' 
me; but if you be bound to ride, us boys will pay the 
forfeit, if you get throwed." 

Again on the second day the announcer waved his 
hand for silence. "Folks, yesterday the best rider 
and cowpuncher in Texas rode at the speckled year- 
lin'. Today 'Little Boy' from Flat Top Mountain 
Ranch says he's goin' to ride him. We hates to let 
a little orphan boy go agin this here steer, but he sez 
he ain't a-goin' to git hurt, an' if he does there ain't 
anybody but him. The management hopes he wins. 

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A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 

If he does, git your change ready for a hat prize, an' 
I am a-goin' to start it with a five." 

As boy and steer came out of the chute, the stillness 
fairly hurt. Every heart in that great crowd seemed 
to stop for the first three jumps, but "Little Boy" was 
sitting tight. From the crowd there came a mighty 
roar: "Stay with him, 'Little Boy'! He's got a 
booger on him. -Ride Him 'Little Boy' !" 

At the tenth jump "Little Boy" was still up, his 
grin growing broader and his seat getting steadier, 
while the yearling, maddened by his clinging burden, 
pitched and weaved, but, like Sinbad's "Old Man of 
the Sea," "Little Boy" kept "a-ridin'." 

The crowd went daft. Every one was standing 
and shouting. The noise seemed to infuriate the 
yearling, and, turning from the end of the enclosure, 
he made straight for the grandstand, struck his head 
against the protecting wire, stood stock still, and 
glared, while "Little Boy" sat and grinned. Some 
one cried "Speech!" and, as stillness came, "Little 
Boy," still sitting on the dazed steer, broadened his 
grin and said, "I jest had to ride him. I needed them 
boots and thet John B., so's I could be a real cow- 
boy, an' this yere speckled yearlin's done done it." 



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3i|-77-2 



